


The Crack The Light Shines Through

by BafflingAthalie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Auror Harry, Auror Ron, Betrayal, Completed, Death Eaters return, Draco pov, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Finished, Friendship, Gay Draco, Gay Harry, Harry pov, Heartbreak, Kidnapping, Love, M/M, Murder, PTSD, Post-Hogwarts Battle, Recovery, Redemption Arcs, Slow Burn, Trauma, Weddings, auror hermione, battles, happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-02-23 08:22:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 38,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23141899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BafflingAthalie/pseuds/BafflingAthalie
Summary: Set after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry and everyone else involved in the war try to regain a sense of normality as they reshape Britain's magical society and catch the rest of the Death Eaters. People fall in and out of love, people recover from trauma, people find happiness.
Relationships: Dean/Seamus, Ginny/Luna, Harry/Draco, Harry/Ginny, Harry/OC, Hermione/Ron, Neville/Hannah
Comments: 10
Kudos: 99





	1. Hope is the thing with feathers

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my other, finished Drarry story: Happiness - It Comes On Unexpectedly   
> Or my work in progress: Alone, In Rationed Light  
> Please comment to let me know what you like or don't like :)

Harry opened his eyes slowly to the sound of voices all around him. For a moment, he stiffened, thinking of Voldemort and Death Eaters and war, but then he relaxed as he remembered. He lay motionless on the bed, listening to the voices of his friends and family from the other side of the curtains. 

"Is he awake, 'Mione?" Ron, Harry thought. 

"No, I don't think so." Hermione's voice, and Harry was so grateful for her presence.

"Don't you dare wake him up, Ronald!” Ginny snapped fiercely. 

"But it's been fourteen hours! How can he still be sleeping?" Ron's voice sounded incredulous, and Harry could only imagine his face, and he smiled.

"I reckon you'd sleep for much longer than that if you'd just died, you stupid git." George's rough voice; Harry almost expected Fred to finish his sentence for him. 

"That's enough, boys. If you can't be quiet you'll have to go back downstairs." Mrs Weasley's voice; tired and sad, but bright enough that Harry was reminded of all his days at the Burrow before the war started. 

He lay there for a moment longer, savouring the final moment of peace, before sitting up and pulling back the curtains, anticipating, and dreading, cries of praise and admiration. Instead, to his delight, there was a second of silence, and then Mrs Weasley leant forward and dragged him into a tight hug. One by one, the others joined in, Ginny first, then Hermione, then, more reluctantly, Ron and George. They stayed that way for a long while, but finally Mrs Weasley let him go and stood back. She held him at arm's length, smoothing down his hair and rubbing mud off his face. He looked at their tired, hollow faces and felt immense guilt.

"Shacklebolt and Arthur are downstairs. They want to see you." Mrs Weasley smiled, and, behind her, Ron and George straightened with pride. Mrs Weasley opened her mouth to explain. 

"Arthur's been voted Minister of Magic, Harry!" Hermione cried, blushing when Ron rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath. Elbowing him, Hermione continued.

"There was a vote a few hours ago. Lots of people voted – the Wizengamot, the Order of the Phoenix and the staff of Hogwarts. Quite a few people voted for you, actually, which is interesting because..." 

"We got to vote, Harry! Hermione, Ron, me, Neville and Luna. They said we were war heroes." Ginny interrupted, pushing past Hermione and sitting on the bed next to him. "They were going to wait until you were awake to vote, but we thought you'd vote for Arthur." 

"Didn't think Minister was your style, really," George added, smirking half-heartedly. "Rebel miscreant, maybe, but leader of the British magical world? Maybe not." 

"We were right, weren't we, Harry dear? You would vote for Arthur?" Mrs Weasley asked, nervously wringing her hands. Harry stared at her. 

"Course I would! There's nobody better." 

Everybody relaxed and smiled, and they started to file out of the dorm to join Arthur and Shacklebolt, telling Harry about Bill and Fleur’s new jobs as Curse Breaker for the Ministry. 

***

"Congratulations, Minister." Harry held out his hand for Arthur to shake, unsure of the correct behaviour when greeting a new Minister of Magic.

Arthur brushed aside Harry's hand and pulled him into a hug, exclaiming, "Don't be ridiculous, Harry, no need to be so formal." 

After Arthur stepped back, Shacklebolt held out his hand. "Well done, Harry. The wizarding world commends you." 

He studied Harry standing before him, flanked by Ron and Hermione on either side. 

“Sorry, but this is going to get a little formal.” Arthur apologised, gesturing to Shacklebolt.

"The Ministry has a proposition for the three of you, as three of the most prominent fighters in this war. As I'm sure you're aware, the Ministry has lost a great many officials. And, although in ordinary situations we would hesitate before asking any unqualified wizards to join the government, these are extraordinary circumstances, and you have all proved yourselves worthy." He paused, scrutinising them each, one by one. 

“Harry Potter, in light of your exceptional bravery, morality and strength, not only during the war but the past seven years, the Ministry has come to the conclusion that we would like to offer you a place in the Auror task force, as a senior member. We believe you have a great many talents that will not only allow you to flourish in this role, but will also allow you inspire and educate others. Will you accept that role?” 

Harry stared at him awkwardly, then turned to Arthur, speechless. Arthur smiled encouragingly, but didn’t speak. After a moment, Harry turned back to Shacklebolt. 

“I’m sorry, but I really don’t think I can right now. The three of us have been fighting this war for seven years, and I think I’d like to spend the summer trying to enjoy the peace before I make any decisions at all. But I can’t guarantee I’ll want to join in September, either – I really don’t think I’m suited for war and fighting, after all this.”

“Of course, Harry. That’s understandable, and there’s no rush.” Arthur said, looking at Shacklebolt, who nodded his agreement. 

"Ron Weasley, your father, as new Minister, and I, as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, have come to the conclusion that, given your bravery, loyalty and achievements during the war, you would also be an excellent addition to the auror task force. Would you be willing to forgo your last year at Hogwarts and join the Aurors?” 

Ron started to speak, coughed, and tried to speak again. He looked at Harry, and then turned to his father and Shacklebolt. 

“I’m sorry, but I agree with Harry. I just want to forget about war and fighting. Maybe I’ll have changed my mind by September.” 

Shacklebolt and Arthur nodded again, and turned to Hermione. 

“Hermione Granger, in light of both your exceptional contribution to the war and your academic prowess, the senior Ministry officials have unanimously decided, despite your young age and lack of credentials, to offer you the role of Deputy Head of the British Department of International Magical Law. We understand that you may wish to return to Hogwarts to finish your NEWTS, and so we offer you the opportunity to take these exams during your first year in the role, taught by some of the best professionals we have.” 

Harry turned to look at Hermione, whose face had lit up in a glow consisting of furious embarrassment and pride. He knew without a doubt that she’d take the job, and he smiled to think of her as such a powerful figure in the new government. Hermione, in turn, twisted to face Harry and Ron, and, for the first time since Harry had woken up, truly smiled.

“I’d be honoured to, really, I have so many ideas already. But…can I ask, why me?” 

“We thought given, your experiences with SPEW and your friendship with Remus Lupin, you may wish to change the laws regarding magical creatures.” Arthur said, and a silence fell upon the group. Harry’s chest constricted, and he scrunched his eyes closed. He felt Hermione slip an arm around his waist, and Ron patted his back a few times awkwardly. Harry heard Arthur and Shacklebolt being called elsewhere. Shaking his head, he opened his eyes and stepped back to look at his closest friends. 

“Congratulations, Hermione. You deserve it. Promise me one thing, though?” Harry addressed Hermione, smiling slightly through the pain in his chest.

“Anything, Harry.” 

“Make it easier for werewolves. Call it Lupin’s Law, won’t you? He needs to be remembered.” His voice shook and cracked. 

“Oh, Harry!” Hermione threw herself at him and wrapped her arms around him, tears filling her wide eyes. For once, Ron didn’t mention her tears or her emotions, and instead stepped into the hug. 

After a moment, they pulled apart and looked into the Great Hall. The bodies had been moved out of the room, and many of the fighters had left, returning home. Any seriously injured Death Eaters had been moved to a secure section of St Mungo’s, and the other surviving Death Eaters had been taken to the cells in the Ministry. People stood in small groups, comforting each other or casting spells to clear the last of the rubble.

It was a curious thing, Harry thought, to see so many survivors unsure of how to feel, needing to mourn their losses and wanting to finally celebrate victory. He saw Neville, still clutching the sword of Gryffindor, and beside him Luna and Ginny, holding hands tightly. Ginny’s eyes were rimmed with red, and her cheeks were tear stained. Harry thought of Fred and grief rose in his throat, punching a hole in his heart on the way. He saw Bill, Charlie, Percy and George huddled together, faces pale and stricken with grief. He saw the Patil twins mourning the loss of Lavender Brown, and Dean asleep on the floor, Seamus’ head resting on his shoulder, hands tightly clasped in Dean’s lap. He saw the Hogwarts staff stood by Arthur and Shacklebolt. He turned to his right and saw that Ron and Hermione had walked away, towards a bench by the wall, and were holding each other in a tight embrace. 

Harry watched his closest friends and allies mourning those who had died fighting for him, and he started to feel nauseous. Is this my fault? He thought, and he almost retched, sick with the thought that Remus and Tonks, Fred and Colin, and everyone else had died to save him. As he stood in the entrance of the hall, someone started clapping from the other end of the hall, and he couldn’t see who they were. The clapping spread throughout the room like fiendfyre, until the hall and Harry’s ears were ringing with the sheer volume. He forced a stiff smile, unsure of what else to do. Awkwardly he glanced at Hermione and Ron, silently pleading with them to help. Before they could stand, though, the room fell quiet again as they turned away, returning to conversations and spell work. 

“Harry, dear?” Mrs Weasley appeared behind him, “I thought you might want to see Remus and Tonks. I’ll show you where they are, and when you’re done you can find us again.” 

“Can I see Fred, too? I know it’s my fault but…” 

“Harry, it is no-one’s fault but the dreadful men that killed him, and the terrible monster who led them. You are not to blame, dear. Fred knew what he was getting himself into, and I’m sure he’d do it again, with pride, if he could.” Mrs Weasley took his arm with considerable force and led him away, continuing to tell him, in no uncertain terms, that it wasn’t his fault. 

“Mrs Weasley? When I’m done, can we go home?” 

“Of course we can, Harry, dear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're enjoying the story so far! Please leave comments to let me know what you like! :)


	2. Still, like dust, I'll rise

It had been over a month since the Battle of Hogwarts, and it was now early June. There had been complete peace in Britain – the surviving Death Eaters had gone into hiding, possibly forever, and the funerals of the dead had finished several weeks before. Ron and Harry had thought no more of what to do when the summer ended. Hermione had promised Arthur she’d join the Ministry in September and had, in true Hermione style, been working on several laws (“What, in your free time?” Ron had asked, horrified). 

The Burrow was by no means a happy place, as Mrs Weasley and Ginny could barely go a day without crying, and the Weasley brothers, especially George, were often sullen and miserable. Ron in particular was increasingly short-tempered, and Harry knew he’d been having nightmares, as he’d heard him cry out in his sleep more than once. Harry didn’t think Hermione had been sleeping – she seemed to be reading more books than ever, more than even seemed possible, and her face was paler than ever, with dark shadows under each hollow eye. Harry himself was finding it hard to sleep without waking up screaming, seeing Voldemort’s face looming in front of him, twisting into Nagini’s face. Trying to be productive, he’d taken to reading some of Hermione’s books about spell making and rarer spells, deciding to learn new spells. But they were no longer living under the terrible shadow of Voldemort, and they were finally free from a fear that had been haunting them for years, and it showed. 

In an attempt to cheer everyone up, Ron and Harry had proposed a daily Quidditch game, with Ron, Harry and Charlie playing against Bill, Ginny and George. Although Percy had no desire to play, he had, over the years, amassed a large amount of Quidditch knowledge, and he and Hermione became the referees. The games were often long and filled with adrenaline, and there was never an easy win for either side. Mrs Weasley and Fleur often came out to watch, and, when he was home, Mr Weasley joined Percy and Hermione. 

It was during one of these ordinary summer afternoon games that Mr Weasley arrived home with a grave face and tired eyes. The tired eyes weren’t unusual, given that he’d taken over control of a government simultaneously abusive and abused, and he was out all hours of the day and night trying to fix the world. (Or at least it felt like it to the Weasley family.) But the grave face, worn as it was, was unusual – no matter how tired Arthur was, or how many hours he’d been awake, he always came through the door with a smile, a joke or a story to tell – he may be Minister, but he was a father and a husband first, and he wouldn’t forget it. 

The sight of Mr Weasley’s weary face stopped the game in its tracks – such a small thing, and yet, to survivors of a war (or two, as Mrs Weasley was), it was a terrible sight. What could have gone so wrong that he couldn’t muster a smile for his family? They all thought, and they were afraid. 

“Lucius Malfoy, Valentina Nott and the Carrows have escaped from their Ministry cells. Several Aurors are dead. We can only assume that either they had inside help, or all were proficient in wandless magic. We should be safe here.” He stood in the doorway of the Burrow and watched his family crumble.   
He held out his arms and Ginny flew into them, tears starting to well in her eyes, remembering the horror the Carrows had unleashed at Hogwarts. Mrs Weasley shuddered, and Charlie put an arm around her. 

Harry and Ron caught each other’s eyes, and Hermione grabbed their hands anxiously. Mrs Weasley led the others inside, comforting Ginny, already discussing plans for dinner – anything to keep their minds off what their father had told them. 

“Harry, Ron. I wouldn’t ask this of you on any other day, but we simply have no choice. You are greatly needed in the Auror task force – too many have died, and not enough have taken their place. I’m sorry, but we have no choice. On top of this debacle, there has been talk from the public about nepotism and favouritism.” Arthur’s normally jovial face was decorated with worry lines and frowns, and Harry felt deep guilt at not offering to help in advance. How could he have been so selfish? How could he have forgotten what everyone had been through because of him and his war?

“We’ll do it, Mr Weasley. I’m sorry I didn’t agree before.” Harry offered, and Ron nodded beside him. Hermione bit her lip, and then interrupted Mr Weasley’s thanks. 

“I’m doing it too.” She declared. Mr Weasley started to protest, but Ron spoke over him. 

“She’s the best witch there is, Dad, and she knows more about magic than just about anyone.”

“It’s true, Mr Weasley. Hermione will probably be more useful than us, to be honest.” Harry added, and Mr Weasley shrugged and smiled at Hermione, who was blushing at Ron's praise. 

***

"Aha! Here they are!" Cried a short, dark haired man as Shacklebolt escorted Harry, Ron and Hermione into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, grinning at the three teenagers. At his shout, men and women started to stick their heads out of their cubicles and offices, some gawking, some frowning, some expressionless. 

"That's enough gawking, McKinnon." Shacklebolt responded, and turned to address the Aurors and other Law Enforcers. “I’m sure that introductions are unnecessary, but nonetheless, this is Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger. They will be joining the Auror Department for the time being.” 

“Fresh meat, eh, boys? New trio of Auror Trainees!” Called out a middle-aged sneering man. 

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Graves. These three will be fully fledged Aurors. Potter may be taking up a senior position in September if he chooses.” Shacklebolt’s voice brooked no argument as he met Grave’s cold eyes. 

“That’s preposterous! I’ve been in this department for eleven years, and some child is going to outrank me? I don’t care if he’s the Chosen One or not, that’s absurd!” The man named Graves said indignantly, face flushing purple. 

“Potter may be young but he is no child. He has personally fought, and defeated, Voldemort more times than you’ve fought a Death Eater, Graves. He, Weasley and Granger have been some of the most active fighters in the war.” Shacklebolt’s voice grew cold, and Harry winced, wishing Kingsley hadn’t been so blatantly favouring the three of them. Judging by Ron and Hermione’s faces, he knew they felt the same. 

“Very well, sir.” Graves muttered bitterly, glaring at Harry. Muttering under his breath, he started to walk away, and the crowd dispersed, leaving only a few behind. Harry saw that several faces were familiar, and he felt slightly more comfortable. 

“Hello, Harry. Proudfoot.” A tall, lanky man held out his hand for Harry to shake, and then offered it to Ron and Hermione. Dawlish (a robust blonde man) and Savage (a tall angular woman) followed suit, professional and calm, but clearly interested in the three teenagers. 

“Proudfoot, Dawlish and Savage are the three senior Aurors, in charge of organising missions, teams and training exercises. These are McKinnon” (he gestured to the man who had spoken earlier) “and Hopkins” (a slight, blonde woman) “they will be showing you around for the first week.”   
Both junior Aurors waved at the Harry, Ron and Hermione, smiling. 

“Nice to finally have some younger blood, too many oldies around here,” McKinnon laughed, elbowing Dawlish in the side and shifting away suddenly to avoid Dawlish’s responding jab. 

“Well I’ll leave you in their capable hands, you three. You know where to find me if you need me.” Shacklebolt turned to leave, smiling at their chorused response of “Bye, Kingsley”.

“So, we’re going to place the three of you into a team, but we thought we’d give you the choice of who to work with, including each other.” Proudfoot addressed the three. 

“Oi, Harry, you and me, yeah?” Ron immediately blurted, turning towards him with a grin. Harry stuck his thumbs up, delighted to be working with Ron, relieved he hadn’t abandoned him to work with Hermione. 

Hermione rolled her eyes and addressed Hopkins, “Let’s leave the boys to play, and work together, shall we?” 

“Yeah, I’ve got some questions to ask you about Hogwarts, actually. I was home-schooled, see?” Hopkins explained, grinning.

“Excellent. Proudfoot and I already work together, and Dawlish and McKinnon can be partners.” 

Hermione turned inquisitively to Hopkins, opening her mouth to ask why she didn’t have a partner. Pre-empting her questions, Hopkins explained. 

“I was with Tonks until, well, the Battle of Hogwarts. I’m actually the godmother of baby Teddy.” Hopkins explained, face downcast. The faces of everyone present frowned slightly, and Harry’s gorge rose again at the memory of the people who had sacrificed themselves in the war. Hopkins looked at Harry. 

“She was a friend. I’m sorry I didn’t protect her…” Hopkins’ voice trailed off and Harry nodded shortly, trying to convey that he didn’t blame her.

Conversation started again, and Harry, Ron and Hermione followed the other Aurors down winding corridors to find their offices, which were thankfully next door to each other and the kitchen, as Ron loudly exclaimed. Hermione and Hopkins vanished into their office, engaged in a lively discussion of ‘Hogwarts: A History’, and Ron and Harry entered their office in a similarly lively argument about what their first mission might be.


	3. They are not long, the days of wine and roses

“Here’s to our first month with the Aurors!” Ron cheered, raising his glass of Firewhiskey into the air, and grinning as Hermione and Harry followed. 

“And to every time we nearly died.” Harry grinned back, taking a swig and coughing. 

“And to every time I saved you idiots from near death.” Hermione finished their toast and downed her Firewhiskey in a single gulp, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as Ron and Harry wolf whistled, as they did every time she proved better at drinking than them. 

Hermione sat close to Ron, with his arm around her shoulder, leaning back against an armchair by the fire of the Burrow. Harry smiled to see them so comfortable. After their infamous kiss during the Battle, they’d reverted to an awkward, banterous semi-flirtatious relationship for what seemed like forever, until their second week as Aurors, when Hermione and Hopkins had faced off a troll by themselves. Ron had been furious when Hermione returned and told him and Harry what had happened, until Hermione had shut him up with a kiss. Since then, the two had been a happy couple. 

“Which of us is winning the ‘Most Stupid Risk’ competition at the moment, ‘Mione?” Ron asked, smiling down at her. 

“Harry, of course – he won at least two points when he threw himself in front of me in that last fight, even though I had a Protego shield charm up long before he noticed the threat.” Hermione smirked at Harry and he rolled his eyes. 

The three had been working with McKinnon and Hopkins to track and subdue several groups of Death Eater sympathisers – no true threat as they lacked the talent and cruelty that Death Eaters had, but still troubling and in need of immediate action. 

“Have you thought of any more laws today, Hermione?” Harry replied, relaxing back into his armchair. Hermione’s face fell, and she twisted away from Ron reluctantly. 

“That reminds me, you two – the date for the Malfoy trials has been set. Of course, only Malfoy and his mother are going to be there, since Malfoy elder has escaped, but the three of us have been asked to be present. We’ve been witness to the majority of their crimes, after all.” Hermione’s voice was tentative, expecting the inevitable eruption from Ron. 

Sure enough, Ron burst into a furious rant about “that scumbag Malfoy” and his “toad father” and his “snake mother”, looking towards Harry for back up. But Harry’s face was contemplative. 

“Malfoy’s a twat, Ron, we all know that, and his father’s even worse. But his mother…she saved my life, Ron.” Harry interrupted, feeling guilty for even suggesting that a single Malfoy could be anything less than pure evil. Ron stopped short, shocked silent, and Hermione’s face expressed barely-controlled surprise. 

“What the hell, Harry?” Ron jumped out of his chair, upsetting his drink, which Hermione only just caught with a flick of her wand. 

“I’m not saying she’s good, or redeemable, or even capable of changing, but I can’t forget that without her, this war would be lost.” Harry winced at Ron’s indignant face flushing red. 

“No, Harry! Without you, this war would be lost!” 

“Yeah, and without her, I’d be dead.”

Ron’s face suggested that perhaps at this moment he wouldn’t have minded that so much.

“Harry could be right, Ron. And Narcissa is the only member of the inner circle to never take the Dark Mark, you know.” Hermione interjected, looking distraught at the first real argument between the three since the height of the war. 

Ron attempted to answer, but instead knocked his glass off the table and stormed out of the room to the attic. Harry looked desperately at Hermione. 

“I think that, whatever we feel, we have to testify at their trials. We can enter our memories as evidence, and review all of the other evidence, and then we can testify.” Hermione answered him calmly, rising to follow Ron. As she reached the door, she turned around and, voice soft, addressed Harry quietly. 

“I don’t know what to think, Harry, but I can say that I’m grateful she spared your life.” She hesitated, and continued. “The rest of us may never know what happened in the Forbidden Forrest, but if she saved your life then it seems we must owe her something, although I don’t know quite what yet.” 

As she left the room, Ginny slipped in and headed over to Harry’s chair and, after a moment’s deliberation, sat on the armrest. 

“What was all that shouting just now?” Ginny asked. 

“Ron.” Harry replied shortly. 

“The trials, I bet? Hermione was telling me earlier.” 

“Yeah, that’s it.” 

Ginny waited to see if he would elaborate. He didn’t. He wasn’t sure if he couldn’t, or wouldn’t.

“No need to be grouchy with me, you know. I haven’t done anything wrong.” Ginny said sharply, rising and stalking out of the room, pausing to see if Harry called her back. 

Harry’s mind was occupied, however, with thoughts of Draco Malfoy – screaming and tearful, framed in fire, hands reaching up towards Harry on the broom in the Room of Requirement; pale and fearful as he stared at Harry’s swollen, almost unrecognisable face in Malfoy Manor. Despite a seven year long relationship consisting only of hate and spite and bitterness, in the past year both Harry and Malfoy had saved each other’s lives, not once but twice, and this was a fact that Harry couldn’t forget, no matter how hard he tried. Was it possible for somebody so deeply unpleasant and morally repugnant to be forgiven?

Harry sat there, alone in the room by the fire, long after Ron and Hermione had made up and fallen asleep, long after George had cried himself to sleep, long after Ginny and Mrs Weasley had closed their weary eyes, long after Mr Weasley had finally returned home. He sat there all alone, remembering every nasty detail of the war and his part in it. 

***  
Draco Malfoy sat, alone in his cell lit only by moonlight, longing for the end of his mother’s worst birthday ever, listening to the mocking laughter of the guards outside the cell door, listening to his mother’s muffled sobs, listening, in vain, for his father’s steady breath in the cell next door. He sat there all alone, remembering every nasty detail of the war and his part in it.

***  
“I notice, Miss Granger, you have less arrests on this week’s record than your male counterparts – however can this have happened?” Graves appeared in front of the threesome and smiled directly at Hermione, clearly awaiting a response. His face appeared jovial enough, but there was something dark and cold in his eyes that made Harry shiver.

“That would be because I’ve been in meetings with the Minister and his office about the new legislations I intend to bring into order in September, Graves.” Hermione smiled sweetly and tilted her head to the side coquettishly. Graves stiffened. 

“I can’t imagine why the Ministry is allowing a child, and a girl at that, to be a Head of a Department, given how…emotional they are…” Graves trailed off as he turned on his heel and stalked off to continue his rant in front of an audience. Hermione flushed a bright pink and launched herself out of her chair.

“That weasely, slimy little….git!” Hermione gasped as Ron quickly grabbed her by the waist and pulled her back. 

“’Mione, you’re just giving him what he wants.” Ron explained, sending a filthy look towards Graves in the corner.

“Ronald, don’t you dare try to stop me!” She brandished her wand, which Harry adeptly fished out of her fist and stuffed it into his pocket.

“He’s a git, Hermione, but wait a moment – Savage is due to come check up on everything in a just a moment, and she’ll have a right go at him when she hears.” Harry added, pointing towards the corner where, as Harry had predicted, Savage had appeared. Upon hearing Graves’ misogynistic rant, her face paled, her shoulders stiffened and her lips pursed tightly. 

“That is enough, Graves. I want to hear no more of this nonsense, or you’ll be temporarily suspended from active duty. Am I clear?” Savage rapped out coldly, and Graves froze. 

“Yes, ma’am.” He responded dully, eyes burning with anger. 

***  
“Ron! Duck!” Hermione shrieked, throwing her wand arm out towards the cloaked man and shouting a complex spell, already spinning away as the stream of blue fire enveloped him.

“Igneus orbem!” Harry cried, waving his wand in a circular pattern, black flames spewing out of the tip his wand and encircling two of the black cloaked men shooting spells at Hopkins and Ron. 

“Demiliri! Demiliri!” Hopkins screamed, wand jabbing at the ground where vivid green vines burst through the earth, wrapping around the legs of the men Harry had trapped, dragging them to the ground. She flashed a brief smile at Harry, white teeth shining through the dark. He grinned back, only to hear a wrenching scream behind him. 

“Hermione! No! You bastards!” Ron bellowed, throwing himself to his knees beside Hermione’s motionless body, where blood was rapidly spreading from her ribs. For a second Ron, too, was totally, still, before he wrenched himself away and leapt up, face burning red with anger. Harry and Hopkins, recognising the determination on Ron’s face, knelt beside Hermione and started to examine the blood seeping from the pus filled wound on her right side. 

“You bastards! Ossa fracta!” He bellowed, pointing his wand at each of the five cloaked men in rapid succession, ignoring the sharp sound of shattered bones and the dull thud of their bodies hitting the ground. 

“I taught you that…” Hermione whispered weakly, eyes fluttering open. Ron fell to his knees to grasp her hands while Hopkins and Harry activated the Portkey and whisked them back to the Ministry. 

Before minutes had gone by, Ron was laying Hermione gently on an armchair in the Auror Department lounge, ignoring the chaos around him as Hopkins screamed for a medic and Harry frantically fended off curious observers. 

“The girl finally got herself injured, then? Not really surprising, is it?” Graves appeared, smirking darkly, looking at down at Hermione with dark eyes. Ron bellowed in rage and prepared to stand up, only to be stopped by Hermione’s quiet whisper. 

“Where’s my wand? Ronald, where’s my damn wand?” She forced herself upright, wincing as more pus leaked from her wound, joining a mess of blood and dust around the deep wound in her side. She weakly fished her wand out of Ron’s pocket and, staring directly into Graves’ eyes, started a complicated healing spell. As she muttered under her breath, white fire appeared in her wound, burning away the pus and dust, riveting together her bone and flesh. The heat was palpable from across the room, and, even though the surrounding skin singed and smoked, she didn’t flinch or cry out in pain. Grave’s confident smirk slowly dripped off his face as her eyes never left his face. After perhaps 30 seconds of the spell, she twisted her wand and the fire extinguished with a pop. 

“I could fight you, Graves, but I don’t need to. I have nothing to prove to you, or anyone else for that matter, because I know my own damn worth. I have survived torture at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange, and fought more Death Eaters than you ever will. You may think you’ve lived through a war, but unless you’ve lived in a tent for months, on the run, starving and scared, hunting and destroying dark magic artefacts, all the while fearing for your life, you’re more of a child than I am.” Hermione snapped.

“That’s my girl!” Ron smirked. Harry and Ron grinned at each other over her head, mightily pleased with how she’d handled Graves, who had stormed off, face flushed with embarrassment and fury.


	4. Mercy is the stuff you give to people who don't deserve it

On the morning of the Malfoy’s trial, the three friends woke in violently different moods; Hermione adamant to be as fair and just as possible, Ron just as determined to condemn both mother and son, and Harry confused and miserable. Nevertheless, the three ate breakfast together, and travelled to the Ministry together, albeit in somewhat stony silence.

“Right, so, you understand the process, yes?” Arthur welcomed them, looking expectantly at Hermione when Harry and Ron shook their heads.

“Honestly, you two, do you ever pick up a book?” Hermione tutted, “the process is relatively simple – each individual will review and enter any relevant memories, and then will review all memories entered, including those of the prisoners themselves. At the end of the day, the judge and jury will discuss amongst themselves and a decision will be made, although everyone present will get a vote.” Hermione turned to Arthur for approval.

“Yes, yes, dear, that’s quite right.”

“Hermione! You didn’t tell me anyone else would be able to see my memories!” Harry said indignantly, as Ron sat and sulked behind them.

“Well, Harry, it’s the only way to ensure a fair trial – everyone sees everything, so we all have the most knowledge available. It does make sense, you know.”

Ron’s interrupting retort was prevented by the arrival of a pleasant looking official who led each individual to a personal chamber with a basin each for mother and son in which to deposit their memories. Harry entered cautiously, still confused at how to proceed. Steeling himself to the unpleasant task before him, he sat down and started to remember.

He remembered the first time he’d ever met Narcissa Malfoy, at the Quidditch World Cup, and how rude she’d been, how dismissive of the Weasleys. He remembered with stinging eyes and tight throat how she had been partly responsible for Sirius’s death – how she had used information gained from Kreacher to condemn her own cousin to death at the hands of Death Eaters. He remembered Narcissa taunting him, Ron and Hermione in Madam Malkin’s about Sirius’s death. He remembered how Narcissa had proudly hosted Voldemort in her home for months, and he remembered her part in kidnapping Luna, Dean, Griphook and Ollivander, and he remembered angrily how she had identified Hermione at her manor. 

But then he remembered lying on the cold forest floor, returned from death, afraid and unsure, and he remembered her listening to his beating heart, feeling his warm breath, and he remembered her lying to her Dark Lord. He remembered her lying to Voldemort, and he knew that no matter what else she had done in her life, she had saved his life, and enabled him to end the war once and for all. 

Harry opened his eyes and was startled to find a few rogue tears trickling down his cheek. He carefully removed the part of the memory that showed he had truly died, instead showing only that she had saved him. Brushing them away, he turned to the basin that was to hold his memories of Draco Malfoy. He stared blankly, unsure which memories to show; seven years of his life had been dedicated to defeating Voldemort and thwarting Malfoy’s plans – he had a lot of memories. 

“Well, nothing for it but to start at the beginning.” Harry muttered, and closed his eyes, raising his wand to his temple. 

“Hello. Hogwarts too?” Harry heard an eleven year old Malfoy’s voice ringing in his ear, talking about “our kind” and “the old wizarding families”. He remembered Malfoy’s every snide comment about Ron’s poverty, and his family’s wizarding status. He remembered every time Malfoy had called Hermione a Mudblood, every time he had said she didn’t belong in the wizarding world. He remembered Malfoy taunting and bullying Ginny, Neville and Luna. 

Harry remembered Malfoy’s glee in second year as the Basilisk ran wild and the Chamber of Secrets was opened. He remembered Malfoy’s blatant disregard for rules as a Prefect, and for Malfoy’s pride in being a member of Umbridge’s Inquisitorial Squad in fifth year. He remembered Malfoy being made a Death Eater in sixth year, and for his role in the first Battle of Hogwarts, and for his part in Dumbledore’s death. 

Harry opened his eyes and took several deep, shuddering breaths, angrily brushing away more tears. He closed his eyes again and continued. 

Harry remembered sixth year, how Malfoy had gotten paler and paler, how he seemed to no longer be eating, how he no longer smiled or spoke in anything less than a snap. He remembered the awful scene in the bathroom, where Malfoy had been crying, actually crying, and how Harry had used that monstrous spell on him, almost killing him. He remembered how Malfoy had stood with his wand pointed at Dumbledore, almost crying, unable to utter the Killing Curse.

Harry remembered Malfoy Manor, Lucius’s crowing at finally capturing Harry Potter, and how, unlike his father, Malfoy had seemed….almost afraid. Harry remembered Malfoy’s voice muttering “I can’t – I can’t be sure,” as he refused to identify him. Harry remembered the Room of Requirement, and how Malfoy had attempted to stop Crabbe using the Cruciatus and Fiendfyre curses, and how Harry had saved Malfoy’s life. Harry remembered the moment during the final battle where Malfoy and Narcissa defected. 

Harry opened his eyes, feeling even more conflicted about Draco Malfoy than he had before – his school-hood nemesis, his long-time opponent. He knew Ron would say he didn’t deserve anything less than Azkaban, and he knew Hermione would say everyone deserved the chance to redeem themselves, but he didn’t know what he thought. 

Feeling totally useless, he stood up and walked away from the two basins filled with silvery-blue memories, re-joining Hermione, Ron and Ginny in the hall. 

“Blimey, you took ages, didn’t you?” Ron called out as Harry walked towards them, apparently feeling much better after decanting every awful memory he could find of the Malfoys. Ginny slipped an arm around his waist as he joined them, and he instinctively kissed her cheek quickly and awkwardly, and saw her smile slightly. 

“You really did, you know, Harry.” Hermione added, looking at him sideways as the four walked through the hall towards the courtroom. 

“Yeah, we thought you’d fallen asleep or something!” Ginny smirked at him. 

“Or drowned in the basins!” Ron added cheerily.

“Funny.” Harry muttered as Hermione started to lecture Ron on the non-liquid properties of memories.

*  
The courtroom had perhaps a hundred people in it, most dressed in formal wizarding robes, with the exception of the Weasleys and a few others.

“Bloody hell, wish we’d got a memo or something, we look like right fools.” 

“Calm down, Ron, we look fine.”

“We are war heroes after all, I reckon we can wear what we want.” Ginny added. “What do you think, Harry?” 

But Harry was suddenly distracted by the arrival of Narcissa and Draco Malfoy, bound by shining chains around the wrists and ankles. Harry’s eyes were immediately drawn to Malfoy’s angular, pale face. He looks awful! Harry thought, noticing his hollow cheeks and empty eyes. Worst of all, though, was his unkempt hair – his blonde hair, normally slicked back and carefully groomed was instead loose and long around his face, falling to below his sharp, pointed chin. There was almost nothing left of him without his infamous sneer and religiously coiffed hair, and he looked very much like what he was: a scared, lonely child. 

The courtroom fell silent as the two prisoners were seated and the official memory keeper (Harry couldn’t remember his title, even though Hermione had given him a lecture on his role just this morning) stood to introduce the judge and jury, consisting primarily of Ministry of Magic workers and members of the Order of the Phoenix. 

The memories of Narcissa went first – Harry could barely concentrate, and so they went by in a total blur – he was aware only of Malfoy’s pale figure in the centre of the room. Harry was almost shaking – he couldn’t tell if he was scared or angry. He couldn’t decide – did he want the Malfoys to be found innocent or guilty? Did he want to stand up and vote on their sentence? Did he want to be responsible for yet more people’s fates? As despicable as Malfoy had been, he was a boy – the same age as he himself was. 

And then, suddenly, it was time to see the memories of Draco Malfoy, the youngest Death Eater of this war. Harry’s breath caught in his throat, and he almost choked. Ginny, sat close beside him, carefully placed one hand on his knee, and he felt a warmth creep through his body, emanating from her palm. He shared a brief smile with her before turning his attention back to the almost skeletal boy in the centre of the room. 

*  
Draco was barely breathing. He had watched what felt like hours of memories of his mother, from her childhood right up until her final defeat in the Battle of Hogwarts – he had seen her best and worst moments, and knew they did not compare to his. She would be found innocent, of that he was sure – after all, she had lied to Voldemort himself and had as a result saved Potter’s life. That would not be forgotten easily. 

It was his turn now, and he was afraid. He had spent years refusing to acknowledge fear, but this was fear he was feeling. He was afraid. 

Many people had been asked to contribute, he knew, but he was caught off guard when his childish voice rang out saying “Hello. Hogwarts too?” and heard Harry Potter’s voice in response. His whole body froze – he had forgotten, or perhaps had chosen to forget, that Harry Potter, saviour of the wizarding world would be asked to submit his memories of Draco Malfoy. 

Draco couldn’t help it; his eyes shot to where Potter was sat, with Granger and the Weasley family. To his horror, Potter was looking back – their eyes met, and Draco felt a chill run down his spine as they stared at each other across the room. Flushing slightly, Draco looked away, back to the memories being played against the stone wall. He watched memory after memory, each blurring into another, each solidifying the view that he, Draco Malfoy, was an awful, awful person. All the while he was aware of Harry Potter watching him, eyes almost boring holes into his head. Draco could feel the hatred and anger from where he was sat, and he couldn’t bring himself to look back into the eyes of his nemesis. He was filled with anger and, although he would never admit it, shame at the thought of Potter submitting even a single memory of him or his mother. He clenched his fists tightly, and his nails bit into the soft skin of his palms. 

And then the strangest thing happened – after several memories of Draco being pale and sickly in sixth year, presumably to show how twisted he had become, Draco was suddenly confronted with the sight of himself sobbing in a Hogwarts bathroom. He froze, breath captured behind his teeth as he gasped with shock. All around the courtroom people gasped in sync with him as they saw something they had never dreamed they’d see. Steeling himself, Draco sought out Potter in the crowd, and met his steady stare with one of his own – Draco could feel the heat of his stare from across the room, and he shivered. 

The pair of boys maintained the eye contact as Potter’s memories continued to show…pity? Mercy, even? The night Malfoy had cried and been unable to kill Dumbledore, when he had yelled “I have to do it! He’ll kill me” (Malfoy wondered how he had got the memory?); the night Malfoy had been so afraid to identify Harry Potter lying broken and bruised in his family home; the night of the final battle, and the dreadful scene in the Room of Requirement where Crabbe had died and where Potter had saved his life; the moment when he had defected during the final moments of Voldemort’s life, presented not as fear of retribution but as…a moment of bravery? 

The courtroom was in shock – their boy wonder, their golden boy, their saviour, had done the unthinkable – he’d preached mercy for Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy, too, was frozen in shock and fear as the judge stood to announce the start of the voting. As with the presentation of the memories, Narcissa went first. 

“Stand and speak ‘aye’ if you wish to see Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black, forgiven for her crimes.” The Justice spoke, and there was no movement for a split second. Draco heard his mother struggle to contain a sob beside him, and felt his throat constrict. And then…slowly, Harry Potter stood up and spoke ‘aye’. Glancing unhappily at Weasley, Granger followed quickly. Slowly, slowly, people around the courtroom followed suit, encouraged by the actions of The Boy Who Lived. Out of the one hundred witnesses in the courtroom, 64 voted ‘aye’. Narcissa Malfoy was officially forgiven for her crimes. 

“Stand and speak ‘aye’ if you wish to see Draco Malfoy forgiven for his crimes.” 

Again, no movement. Draco felt his eyes drawn once again to Potter, who was engaged in an angrily whispered conversation with Granger and Weasley junior. Wrenching his hand out of the female Weasley’s tight grip, he stood and spoke ‘aye’. Even more unhappily, Granger followed suit, to the obvious fury of Ron and Ginny Weasley.

Even more hesitantly than before, people started to stand and speak. The room swayed and blurred before Draco’s eyes, and he thought he was going to faint. 

Just before he lost consciousness, though, he saw the youngest Weasley child throw Potter a look filled with equal amounts despair, anger and longing as she, too, stood up, becoming the 51st person to do so, and in doing so creating the majority that allowed Draco Malfoy to be absolved of his war crimes.


	5. Happiness is only real when shared

Harry grinned awkwardly as the Weasley family and Hermione sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to him. His smile got wider at the Firebolt cake Mrs Weasley had made for him, and he tried to ignore the ache in his heart at the people that couldn’t be there – Sirius, Lupin, Tonks, Fred, Dobby, and the countless others that had died during the war. Swallowing uncomfortably, he caught Ginny’s eye. She smiled softly at him and took his hand under the table, sensing his conflict. At that exact moment, Hagrid, rather ambitiously, tried to sing in harmony with everyone else, causing an eruption of laughter from Ron, Bill and Charlie. This set off Mr Weasley and George, and eventually everyone, including Hagrid himself, was laughing uproariously. 

When everyone had recovered, and when Bill, Charlie and George had finished mimicking Hagrid’s singing, everyone took turns giving Harry their gifts. Hermione had, rather predictably, given Harry a book, although he had to admit he was rather interested in the title: ‘Twenty top Aurors and their most famous tales’. George, Bill and Charlie had bunched together to buy him expensive dragonhide gloves that could be used for Quidditch or keeping warm on a stakeout, and Ron had proudly handed him a mini set of wizard chess, also for stakeouts. He continued opening presents, until there were only two left – Ginny’s, and Mr and Mrs Weasley’s. 

“Open ours first, Harry dear.” Mrs Weasley encouraged, handing Harry a small rectangular box. 

He opened it somewhat nervously as the entire family looked on excitedly – it seemed that everyone else knew what the present was already. Opening the box to see a small clock hand with his name engraved on it, he felt his eyes well up in an unexpected show of emotion. Embarrassed, he looked towards Hermione for help, only to catch Ginny’s eye again instead. 

“I’ll put it up for you, Harry, look!” Ginny took the hand from Harry and moved to the clock, taking the family’s attention with her. The hand joined Fleur’s, which had been given to her on her wedding day. 

Mrs Weasley pulled Harry into a tight hug, quickly making room for Mr Weasley and then, one by one, everyone else. 

It wasn’t until late that night that Harry got around to opening Ginny’s present. He suspected that had been her preferred option, and so he opened it with her, sat on the floor of her room. It was wrapped slightly messily, but he carefully folded the wrapping paper as he removed it to reveal a square wooden box. Inside the box was four small vials filled with silver, shimmering liquid. Each vial was labelled – “Sirius”, “Remus”, “Tonks” and “Dobby”. 

“They’re memories. I thought you’d want them. It’s not everything, but everyone gave at least a few.” Ginny said awkwardly, unsure how to interpret Harry’s silence.

“Gin...” He whispered, and turned abruptly towards her, only to bump his chin with hers, which had been coming to rest on his shoulder. After a second of hesitation, he kissed her, wrapping his arms around her waist as she placed one hand behind his head and the other on his shoulder. Deepening the kiss, Ginny shifted from her uncomfortable position beside him, and, slowly, ended up kneeling over him. He opened his mouth and she followed suit as he gently started to pull her closer towards him. He accidentally bit her lip, and she hissed softly in a mixture of pain and pleasure, and Harry could suddenly only think of Nagini, bursting out of Bathilda’s dead body. 

Suddenly feeling panicked, Harry pushed Ginny away, who looked disgruntled and almost upset until Harry quickly pressed a kiss against her cheek, which mollified her. Still breathing shallowly, Harry was at that moment distracted by an enraged Hermione storming past the room, followed by a confused but equally angry Ron, both talking as angrily as they could whilst still trying not to cause a scene. Harry and Ginny both scrambled out of the room to follow the couple. 

“I just don’t understand why, Ron!” Hermione snapped, rushing up the stairs to the attic. 

“What is there to understand?!” Ron called after her, rolling his eyes at Harry as he followed her. 

“Why Harry gets to be part of the family and I don’t!” Hermione yelled, voice high. 

“What the bloody hell are you talking about?” Ron yelled back, sounding frustrated. 

“He got a clock hand! And I’ve never got one!” Hermione was no longer yelling, but even through the closed attic door Harry and Ginny could hear her embarrassed anger. 

“Oh, here we go.” Ginny said to Harry, smiling. Harry looked at her, confused. 

“That’s because you’ll get it on our wedding day!” Ron shouted, and then everything went silent for a moment. 

“See?” Ginny turned to Harry, who was still listening to the argument upstairs. 

“Our wedding day?” Hermione asked, voice suddenly soft and quiet with affection and surprise.

“Well, yeah. Of course. I mean, not now but…one day… right?” Ron’s voice was soft too, but with a mixture of embarrassment and something much warmer. 

“Right.” Hermione replied, almost out of earshot, and then everything was quiet. 

“No guesses as to what they’re doing now, I suppose.” Ginny snorted, turning to Harry, who managed a weak smile, mind still half occupied by the thoughts of Nagini which would accompany him into a nightmare-fuelled sleep. 

***

Diagon Alley was slowly emptying as the sun finally dipped beneath the city skyline, and it was now that Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny chose to Apparate into the quieting street. Despite their careful timing, there was still a sudden increase in noise as the four were recognised. It took the teenagers a few moments to realise they had been spotted, and so the crowd was treated to a rare moment of Harry laughing at one of Ron’s jokes, whose hand had firmly wrapped around Hermione’s. Ginny had stepped out of the Apparation immediately into Harry’s back, and was blushing furiously. However, the ball dropped quickly for Harry, who had developed somewhat of a sixth sense for when he was being watched, and he silenced quickly. The others followed suit. 

This was their first public outing since the end of the war, and the crowd was wild to see their Saviour and his friends. They started to call out their names. 

After a long summer spent at the Burrow and the Ministry, Harry was shocked by the noise and bustle, and he felt himself withdrawing into himself. He mentally berated himself as he saw how pleased his friends were with the attention, and he resigned himself to standing in place as the others talked with fans and admirers. He had, however, once again underestimated his friends – after a short moment of grinning at the crowd, Ron turned to Harry, ears flushed pink, and nudged Hermione. 

“Thank you! I’m sorry, but we’ve got things to do. Would you mind giving us some peace so we can shop?” Hermione called out in what Ron termed her ‘teacher voice’, which she usually reserved for telling off Ron and Harry. Harry shared a small smile with Ginny as Ron automatically stepped slightly away from Hermione, and then flushed with embarrassment. The crowd dispersed, returning home to tell their families.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Ron spat, and Harry returned his attention to the street, feeling a strange heat in his chest. 

Standing partway down the street, stock still and silent, was Draco Malfoy and his mother. Harry saw that Malfoy had cut his hair and slicked it back into the customary hairstyle he had worn during his time at Hogwarts. His skin had returned to china-pale pallor, and, although still very thin, he looked less skeletal than he had at the trial. 

“Ron, please don’t start a fight!” Hermione whispered frantically into his ear, fingers twisting into the fabric of his robes, pulling him closer to her as the pair walked towards the four. Ron ignored her, yanking his arm out of Hermione’s grip as he went for his wand, muttering about “hexes” and “bastard”. Ginny, too, was brandishing her wand as she glared at Malfoy and his mother, who now stood in front of them. Feeling conflicted, Harry produced his own wand, but stepped in front his friends to face them. Tearing his eyes from Malfoy’s angular face and glittering eyes, he looked at Narcissa Malfoy. 

“I wanted to thank you.” Narcissa said, fixing her eyes on Harry, refusing to look at Hermione’s cold stare and the heated glare of the Weasley siblings. “I appreciate that the…history that you have shared with my husband and my son may have made it…difficult for you, but I am grateful for your objectivity during my trial.” She finished speaking and, with a hand tightly wrapped around Malfoy’s wand arm, she turned and walked away. 

Harry and Hermione breathed a simultaneous sigh of relief at the lack of confrontation, although Ron and Ginny behind them grumbled as they stowed away their wands again.  
The giddiness that the four teenagers had been feeling at the prospect of shopping for their upcoming weekend away in France was torn away, but they were determined not to let the Malfoys ruin their evening, and so they continued to shop. 

“I can’t believe you’ve been excused for Auror duty for a whole weekend! Don’t they need you, Hermione?” Ginny asked as they walked down the street. 

“Well, I can work from anywhere, really, so long as I have my books, so I don’t think it’ll matter much.” Hermione replied, only to be interrupted by Ron exclaiming dramatically that she couldn’t bring books on a holiday, how could she even think about it? 

“Besides, things have been quiet for a few weeks now, so we think the Death Eater supporters have fled underground for a while.” Hermione added, reaching out and grabbing Ron’s hand to mollify him. He flushed pink and snapped his mouth shut as she led him towards Flourish and Blotts to look at books. 

“See you back here in half an hour!” Ginny called to Hermione as she and Harry drifted towards Quality Quidditch Supplies. 

The silence between them was comfortable and almost pleasant as they browsed the broom maintenance supplies, and as Harry stared at a tail clipper Ginny hesitantly slipped her hand into his. Startled, he looked down at her, and returned her smile. After a long moment, they turned and left the shop to find Ron and Hermione.


	6. I will show you fear in a handful of dust

Harry snorted at the gobsmacked look on Ron’s face as he saw Hermione emerging from their holiday cabin, followed by Ginny. The girls had quickly run inside to unpack and change clothes upon arrival, whereas the boys had decided to entertain themselves by opening a Butterbeer each and relaxing on the beach. Hermione had changed into a pale blue, cotton sundress that came up to her mid-thigh, but from the look on Ron’s face, she could have been wearing a dress of solid gold and diamond. Hermione beamed and blushed as Harry had to elbow Ron in the stomach to get him to stop staring. She sat down beside Ron, who opened her a drink and leaned in to whisper something in her ear. 

“You coming in, Harry?” Ginny called from the edge of the water, wearing a white t shirt and a pair of denim shorts. Harry could have sworn Ginny was short, or at least shorter than him, but her legs seemed to go on for miles, and, trying to ignore his flushed cheeks, he jumped up to join her. Just as he reached the water, Ginny laughed wickedly and pulled her wand from her bun, sending a sheet of water towards him. He yelled in surprise and pulled his own wand from his pocket, but before he could use it, Ginny snatched it out of his hands and threw both wands towards Hermione and Ron. Grabbing his hands, she pulled him further into the water. 

The four teenagers had spent the day drinking, swimming and playing cards, and had retreated inside after the sun had finally fallen below the sea in a fantastic blur of colour. Getting away from England had been almost a miraculous cure – Hermione hadn’t touched a book all day, Ginny hadn’t cried once, Ron had only snapped twice, and Harry felt his muscles slowly relaxing as he wondered if perhaps the toll of the war was finally starting to wane? Ron and Hermione were laughing in the kitchen as Ron tried to teach Hermione Molly’s spells for cooking, which seemed to be the only spells Hermione couldn’t master. But Ron’s easy smile kept Hermione from freaking as she flopped a spell for the third time; instead, Hermione shook her head, smiling, as she pushed the knife and peppers back towards Ron, who waved his wand and nailed the spell. 

In the next room over, Ginny rested her head in Harry’s lap as he told her stories of his adventures as an Auror. His left hand was gently smoothing her wild hair away from her forehead and her eyes were drifting closed. She’d almost fallen asleep when Arthur’s voice rang out through the room from the fireplace. 

“Hello? Anyone there?” His voice sounded panicked, and Ginny leapt up off Harry’s lap just as Hermione and Ron came running from the kitchen. Arthur had promised to leave them in peace for the weekend unless there was an emergency, and the faces of all four teenagers were pale with worry. 

“Dad! What’s wrong?” Ron asked, kneeling down in front of the fireplace to face his father’s disembodied head. 

“There’s been a Death Eater attack. An alarm sounded at Malfoy Manor, and we sent over a team to investigate. Two Aurors dead, four in St Mungo’s and we think several Dark objects have been stolen.”

“Shit!” Ron swore, and for once Hermione did not admonish him, instead leaning forward to address Arthur. 

“What do you want us to do, Arthur? We’ll come back straight away.” 

“The three of you need to go to Malfoy Manor. We need you to add extra protection in case of another attack, and to identify what’s been stolen, and, if possible, who the perpetrators are.” Arthur said, looking down at something on his desk. “I’ve got to go, but go straight there. Hopkins, McKinnon and Dawlish will meet you there. Hermione, you remember how to make a Portkey?” 

“Of course.” Hermione replied, but her voice was devoid of her usual pride, face pale. 

“What about me, Dad? What do I do?” Ginny asked, voice quiet. 

“Stay there, Ginny, Charlie is coming to collect you and bring you home.” He paused. “Be safe, all of you, please.” 

And with that, his head popped into a burst of sparks. Hermione vanished upstairs to the girls’ room as Ron and Harry opened their suitcases. 

“I’ve got nothing suitable to wear, shit!” Harry swore, riffling through his clothes to find the closest thing to his Auror robes. 

“Ron, Harry, here.” Hermione reappeared wearing her dark maroon Auror robes, tossing the boys’ robes towards them.

“Thanks, ‘Mione!” Harry and Ron chorused in unison, already pulling their robes over their heads, only stopping for a moment to wonder why Hermione had thought to pack their robes.

Ginny passed one of her flip-flops to Hermione for the Portkey, who tied her hair back and started to mutter under her breath as she waved her wand over the shoe. As soon as she finished Ginny hugged her briefly, whispering something in her ear. 

Soon the boys were dressed, clutching their wands. Ginny threw her arms around Ron and hugged him tightly, and for once he didn’t grunt in pretend annoyance, but instead hugged her back. Ginny released him and quickly stepped over to Harry, who reached out and drew her into his arms. They stood like that for a moment, before he pulled back and kissed her forehead quickly. 

“We’ll be back before you know it, I promise.” Harry murmured before going to join Ron and Hermione touching the Portkey. The last thing Harry saw before the Portkey activated was Ginny’s pale face as she stood all alone in the living room of the holiday cabin. 

***

The three arrived at Malfoy Manor moments later, and all three were silent, remembering the horrors they had been through in this very house less than a year ago. Hermione gripped Ron’s hand harder, and reached for Harry’s too. He was grateful, although only moments later Hermione let go of both hands and strode towards the huge, black double doors, tightening her lips and frowning in the brave, determined look Ron and Harry knew so well. They followed suit and entered, only to stop short at the chaos and carnage of the scene in front of them.

Dark blood was spattered across the walls, its thick consistency reminding Harry almost of paint. A chandelier was shattered on the previously beautiful wooden floors, splintering the wood and…was that an arm underneath? Harry grimaced, feeling sick. Harry followed Ron and Hermione through the lobby into the large room where Hermione had been tortured. Her face had turned a sickly grey and she was clutching her wand so tightly Harry worried it might snap. This room looked worse than the entry hall – there was more blood, and every window was shattered. The wind was blowing cold through the room, and Hermione shivered. Muttering under her breath, she waved her wand at the large windows and the glass fragments on the floor shot back into the frames with a crash. 

The crowd of Aurors at the other end of the room spun around, wands raised, faces fearful. Hopkins darted forward and pointed her wand at Harry. 

“Prove your identity!” She snapped and Harry floundered, looking at Hermione for help. 

“The first time we met, you told me you thought you would have liked to have been a Hufflepuff because you would want to sleep near the kitchens.” Hermione said calmly, looking for all intents and purposes totally unaffected by the fact that she was standing in the exact place she had lain, believing she was going to die at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange. Only Harry and Ron could see her twitching fingers and the way her heels were raising ever so slightly off the floor and dropping back down repeatedly.

Ron followed suit, reminding Hopkins of the time she’d threatened to curse his hand if he stole any more of her quills. She almost smiled. 

“Uh, I can only think of something I don’t think you’d want me to say out loud.” Harry mumbled, and paused. He remembered something he’d read in a book a few months before and tapped his forehead with his wand before meeting Hopkins’ eye. After a second, his eyes flared white for a moment. 

"You told me you were sorry you didn’t protect Tonks" He whispered in her mind

Hopkins started and nodded slowly, lowering her wand. Hermione didn’t waste a second whipping around to face Harry. Only his distressed face stopped her from asking a million questions as she saw his eyes latch onto something behind her. Turning, she too saw what had upset him so much. 

Painted huge in dried blood onto the wall behind the Aurors was a Dark Mark. Slumped on the floor at the base of the Mark was the second dead Auror. His skin was a deathly, waxy white and Harry saw, to his horror, that his eyes had been torn out, and dark blood was streaked down his cheeks. Harry gagged. There was a moment of silence as all the Aurors mourned their fallen comrade, before Hopkins clapped her hands briskly. 

“Right. The Minister sent these three over for several reasons: to add extra protection, and to identify both the stolen objects and the culprits. Harry, Ron, McKinnon, search the rest of the house – we don’t know how long these…monsters were here before they accidentally triggered the alarm – find out what you can. In the meantime, Hermione and I will find a spell to identify the killers in some way. I believe there are lists of Malfoy’s Dark objects at the Ministry that are being sent over. I suggest the rest of you mark which objects are still present and which may be missing.” 

Hermione quickly conjured several large stacks of books while Hopkins cleaned off two chairs and a table. The other Aurors waited for the owls while starting to repair the damage done to the room, and Harry, Ron and McKinnon left the room, wands held out before them. 

“Have you ever been here before?” McKinnon asked quietly as his wand lit up. 

“Once.” Harry replied shortly, trying not to look at the blood streaks on the staircase. Grimacing, Ron elaborated. 

“We were held captive here during the war. Hermione was…tortured by Bellatrix.” 

“And you guys survived? How?” McKinnon’s voice was full of admiration and both boys cringed, remembering Dobby.

“That’s a story for another day, mate, sorry.” Ron said, briskly walking ahead to catch up with Harry. 

*** 

The Weasley family had welcomed the three with welcome arms and relieved, tearstained faces when they arrived safely back from Malfoy Manor. Everybody was quiet as they filed upstairs to their rooms, leaving Harry, Ron and Hermione sitting with Arthur to update him before he returned to the Ministry. 

“They’d been living there for months, Dad, plotting…whatever the hell they’re plotting. There were all these photos of Aurors and Ministry workers and people we didn’t recognise. And I think they’ve been creating something evil – they had all these burnt cauldrons that stank.” Ron said, looking sick. 

“I only got a few of their identities, Arthur, I’m sorry. The spell only showed me the faces of those who took of their masks. But I can confirm that it was the Carrow siblings, at least, as well as four masked Death Eaters.” Hermione was still holding it together, but barely, even Harry could see – she was shaking and she’d bitten her lip so hard it was bleeding. 

“We know some of the Dark objects they took with them, too – a Hand of Glory, as well as several vials of Polyjuice potion and other unidentified potions. We suspect something else has been taken, too, although we don’t know what.” Harry said, trying to remain calm although his heart felt like it had was being squeezed tightly by a giant hand. 

“Yeah, we found a secret cabinet in Lucius’ room that had been smashed, and something had been taken out.” Ron added. 

“Judging by dust patterns, and the size of the cabinet, we can estimate that it had been there before the Death Eaters moved in after the Battle of Hogwarts, and we can guess that it was a wooden box of some sort. But that’s everything we know for now.” Hermione relaxed the tiniest amount as she started to wax lyrical about facts and logic to Ron and Harry as Arthur left to return to the Ministry. But as soon as the door shut behind him, Hermione burst into tears, covering her face with her hands and collapsing onto Ron’s shoulder. 

“I’m never going back there!” Hermione cried, and Ron wrapped his shaking arms around her, whispering that she would never have to, he would make sure of it. Harry sat silently watching, mind filled with images of skulls and snakes entwined, painted in blood. He felt his stomach turn and twist, and jumped up, darting into the bathroom. Throwing himself down in front of the toilet, he vomited as the skull in his mind’s eye started to cackle, blood dripping from its eyes, and the snake hissed, venom dripping from its fangs. He vomited again and again, almost crying. He sat there, crouched over the toilet, all night, even after Ron had comforted Hermione and rocked her to sleep, after Ginny had hesitated at the door of the bathroom and then turned away, after Mr Weasley had finally returned home for a few hours sleep.


	7. Only the dead have seen the end of war

“Oi, mate, you won’t believe it!” Ron hollered, sticking his head out of his and Harry’s small office. Harry grimaced at the noise as he entered, head ringing from his night of wakefulness, and threw himself into his chair. 

“What?” Harry asked tiredly, slumping over his desk. 

“Malfoy’s been taken into custody for the murders last night!” Ron bellowed right next to Harry’s ear, too excited to tame his naturally loud voice. This news was apparently enough to cure Ron of his pain from their evening at Malfoy Manor.

“Mate, shut up, you sound like a frigging foghorn.” Harry grumbled, and then shot up. “Wait, what did you say?” 

“That’s right! Draco bloody Malfoy is being questioned on suspicion of murder and the rest!” Ron was almost dancing on his feet with glee. “Oi, let’s go watch. Can’t wait to watch that slimy ferret squirming in interrogation. I hear Savage is a real bastard in interrogation.” 

Harry was on his feet before Ron finished his sentence, darting through the corridors and slamming open the door to the observation room, scattering Aurors like birds. 

“And I’ve already told you, I had nothing to do with it!” Malfoy snapped, pale skin flushed in anger as he stared down Savage and Proudfoot.

“You expect us to believe that you had nothing to do with a raid on your own house, in which several of your Dark objects were stolen?” Savage’s voice was colder than Harry had ever heard it, and he winced, grateful he wasn’t on the receiving end. Ron, mistaking his expression for god knows what else, playfully punched Harry in the arm as they stared through the glass at Malfoy’s pained face. 

“My father’s house. My father’s Dark objects. My father’s crimes.” Malfoy’s voice was flat and tired. Savage slapped her hand down on the steel table between them, and Malfoy jumped in shock. 

He looks tired, Harry thought, seeing deep shadows under his eyes. He felt uncomfortable noticing such a thing when Ron was practically dancing in joy next to him at the sight of Malfoy bound with chains around his wrists.

“Tell us the truth!” Savage hissed, pointing her wand at Malfoy. 

“I am telling you the truth!” Malfoy cried, and although he struggled to keep his face still and unfeeling, Harry could see his lips shake. “I knew you’d want to interrogate me after I heard about last night, and so when you burst into my aunt’s home I took my supply of Veritaserum with me.” 

He twitched his hand and a small vial of clear liquid flew into it. Proudfoot, still silent, snatched it out of his hand and brought it up to his eye to examine. 

“We have no way of trusting that this is what you say it is.” Savage said coolly. 

“Well then get someone else to try it first!” Malfoy snarled, finally losing his temper. 

“So you can kill another of our own? I don’t think so.” Savage replied, and she and Proudfoot left the room, joining the watchers in the observation room, leaving Malfoy to sit, shackled, in the interrogation room. 

“It seems legitimate, Savage.” Proudfoot finally spoke, carefully sniffing the contents of the vial. There was a tense silence in the room as fifteen Aurors waited for Savage to make a decision. 

“Fine. We’ll use it, but only if someone volunteers to trial it first.” The silence rang louder as the Aurors stared, gobsmacked, at Savage as she waited. No-one moved. No-one spoke. Harry looked through the dark glass at Malfoy, whose eyes were bloodshot and tired. 

“I will.” Harry spoke before he could stop himself, much to Ron’s ire. Savage looked at Harry with her cold eyes and raised an eyebrow. 

“But I want to be in there, and I don’t want anyone but you two in here.” Harry spoke again, words flowing out of his mouth almost without his control. Proudfoot’s eyes shot wide open as whispers spread throughout the room like wildfire – this was unheard of. Savage thought for a moment, and then nodded. Ron ushered everyone out of the room, only pausing to mutter “What the hell are you playing at, mate?” in Harry’s ear before following them. Harry took the bottle out of Proudfoot’s proffered hand and entered the interrogation room hesitantly.

Malfoy’s head snapped up in shock as Harry entered. 

“What are you doing in here?” He barked angrily, glaring at Harry.

“I was the only one willing to try whatever shit you’ve got in this vial, so I’d shut up and be grateful if I were you.” Harry replied, but it was without anger. He sat in the chair opposite Malfoy and flicked his wand twice, conjuring two glasses, privately grateful that Hermione had drilled this spell into him while they were on the run. He poured a tiny amount into each glass and pushed one towards Malfoy, downing his own with only a wince at the bitter taste. Opposite him, Malfoy grimaced as he, too, drank the clear liquid. Harry’s fingers began to tingle, and he saw Malfoy twitching. 

“I think it’s working.” Harry said stupidly.

“You think?” Malfoy snapped, rolling his eyes. 

“Shut up. I think I should start with some easy questions first.” Harry replied, thinking. “Right. What’s your name?” 

“Draco Malfoy.” Malfoy replied, looking bored. 

“And what school did you go to?” 

“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Can we get to the good stuff now?” Malfoy asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“When was the last time you visited Malfoy Manor?” Harry asked, hoping he was wording his questions in the right way, and wondering if maybe this had been a bad idea. Hermione did always say he was too impulsive. 

“Two days after the Battle of Hogwarts, in an Auror-supervised trip to collect my belongings before moving in with my aunt and her grandson.” Malfoy’s voice was bitter. 

“So were you at Malfoy Manor last night?” 

“No. I just said that, imbecile.” 

“I’m just checking!” Harry bit back. He thought again. 

“Did you send anyone to Malfoy Manor last night?”

“No.”

“Did you tell anyone where the Dark objects where hidden?” 

“No. My father never told me where they were hidden.” His voice was quiet, and he refused to meet Harry’s eye. 

“Did you know last night’s attack was going to happen?” 

“No.” 

“Have you seen, spoken to or been in contact with your father since he broke out of jail?”

“No. Don’t you think I should ask you some questions too, to test the Veritaserum? I could be lying right now for all you know.” Malfoy asked, a strange glint in his eyes, tendons in his arms tensing. Harry paused, wary. 

“Fine. But ask anything I shouldn’t answer and I’ll leave, and you’ll get to stay in a lovely little cell overnight.” Harry warned, feeling his stomach turnover in nerves. Malfoy rolled his eyes and tapped his fingers together, thinking. 

“I’ll skip the easy ones, I think.” He smirked and Harry tensed, suddenly regretting his decision to step into this room and drink this blasted potion. What could Malfoy ask? What could he possibly want to know? What the hell had he gotten himself into? 

“What do you think of Weasel and Granger?” Malfoy asked, eyes narrowing. 

“Ron is loyal, and kind, and funny, even though he can be a bit of a dick sometimes. Hermione is brilliant, and trustworthy, even if she is nuts sometimes.” Harry slapped his hand over his mouth in shock as he finished speaking before he’d even realised he’d started. He twisted in his chair and did a thumbs up at the darkened glass so Savage and Proudfoot knew the potion was working.

“Have you ever killed someone other than Voldemort? And did you enjoy it?” Malfoy asked, eyes boring into Harry’s.

“Yes. And no.” Harry felt immense relief as he heard himself answer the second question – it wasn’t something he’d thought about often before, but it was a good thing to hear. “Have you ever killed someone, Malfoy?” 

Malfoy’s face froze, and Harry was sure they were both remembering that awful night on the Astronomy Tower when Dumbledore had died. 

“No, I haven’t.” Malfoy snapped his mouth shut with an audible crack, but he couldn’t stop himself talking. “I couldn’t make myself do it.” 

“I know. I was there that night.” Harry spoke before he could think better of it, and immediately slapped himself on the forehead. 

“What?” Malfoy gasped, silver eyes widening in what Harry thought might be horror. 

“I was there.” Harry repeated. “I saw you try to kill him.” 

“I failed.” Malfoy said bitterly. 

“I wouldn’t say that. I don’t think it’s a failing to not kill someone.” Harry replied. He paused, and then asked what he realised he had been wondering since that night. 

“What did he do to you? After you couldn’t kill Dumbledore.” 

Malfoy paled to a sickly grey pallor and clasped his hand over his mouth, attempting to muffle his involuntary answer, with no success. 

“The Crucio, for hours. He only didn’t kill me because, even if I hadn’t done it, Dumbledore was dead.” 

“I’m sorry.” Harry couldn’t believe he’d actually apologised to Malfoy, and judging by his bugging eyes, neither could Malfoy. He silently vowed that this conversation would never find its way back to Ron.

“I don’t want your pity, Potter.” Malfoy snarled, and Harry startled. They sat in a tense silence as Harry thought if there was anything left he needed to ask Malfoy. Malfoy was undoubtedly thinking of all the ways to curse Harry to hell and back, he thought. 

“I can’t think of anything we need to know at this point in time.” Harry said formally, standing up and pushing his chair back under the metal table. He walked to the door, and then, unable to stop himself, he turned back to Malfoy.

“Malfoy. Why did you take the Dark Mark?” He asked tentatively, expecting Malfoy to bite off his head.

“I didn’t have a choice.” He answered through gritted teeth. He clenched his fists tightly as he continued to speak, eyes closed. “I was too scared not to.”

Harry nodded, curiosity satisfied. He reached out and pushed the door handle down, only to be stopped by Malfoy’s voice. 

“Potter…do you wish you hadn’t saved me? In the Room of Requirement?” His voice was quiet but as tight as a wire, and he looked almost annoyed at himself for asking.

Harry stared at him, mouth moving without his permission. 

“No. I don’t think you deserve to die. I don’t think you’re a monster.” 

Harry flung open the door and threw himself out, slamming the door behind him. Ignoring Savage and Proudfoot, who had apparently been waiting outside once Harry had verified the validity of the potion, he hurried away, feeling sick and shaky. Inside the interrogation room, unseen and unheard, Malfoy sobbed once, twice, a third time, and rested his head on the table, shaking. 

***

For the next three days, everyone in the Auror department was on edge, flinching at every loud noise and sudden movement. Hermione threw herself into trying to discover what the mysterious vials and wooden box could have contained, reading book after book after book, forgetting to eat or sleep. Ron spent his time alternating between cursing every Death Eater’s name he could think of, and trying desperately to get Hermione to eat or rest. Harry, in turn, spent every waking moment in the training rooms, learning new spells he was reading about at night as he tried to avoid his nightmares. Hopkins joined him sometimes, updating him on what was going on outside the training room. 

“Savage has been really on edge, she’s a muggle-born, you know, so she’s obviously worried about the actual Death Eaters that have resurfaced. McKinnon is obviously freaked, because his older sister was engaged to Avery, and Dawlish is furious, of course, because Bletchley was his second cousin or something. And Graves has totally lost it – he’s been swearing like a sailor and putting his fists through walls, and totally refusing to talk to anyone at all. Surprised he cares so much, actually, because I didn’t think he liked Avery or Bletchley much, but I guess this has got everyone pretty upset.” 

Although Harry rarely spoke back, instead focusing entirely on his spell work, he appreciated Hopkins’ company, and they occasionally worked on spells together.


	8. You can survive hell and still, still keep on shining

Draco Malfoy sat alone in his flat in Diagon Alley, and wished to be anywhere else. Malfoy Manor had been seized by the Ministry, and his mother had gone to stay temporarily with her sister, Andromeda. The sisters’ reunion had been awkward, and slightly unpleasant, as they had parted with terrible words and deeds that could never be forgotten, even decades later, but both had been civil and almost keen to make the relationship work. Draco hadn’t wanted to live with Andromeda and the baby Teddy for any longer than absolutely necessary, and had chosen instead to move out and into a flat so he could live in peace. This really was a superior situation, he told himself. It was just that he had forgotten that peace, for a Malfoy, often meant isolation and loneliness. 

This loneliness could perhaps explain why, against all his better judgement, Draco decided to write a letter to Harry Potter. Or it could have been the multiple bottles of Firewhiskey he had drunk that evening. 

He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say – something like, “Potter, I hate you. I hate hate hate you. Congratulations on winning the war. You saved my life. You ruined my life. Thanks for voting to free me, and drinking the bloody Veritaserum. I hate that I’m in your debt.” This situation is messy, Draco thought, and decided to change the wording of his letter.   
The letter he ended up sending went like this: 

Potter, 

You’re probably too busy to read letters anymore, being the Saviour of the Wizarding World and all. And you’re even more unlikely to read a letter from me, but here goes.

I think it goes without saying that I hate you. But I’ll say it anyway. I hate you, and I hate that I owe you, and I hate that I’m grateful to you for what you did for me and my mother. I hate you, and I hate all your stupid friends and their annoying quest for justice. 

But despite me hating you, and you hating me, you saved me in that courtroom, and again in that interrogation room. I’ll admit, this is the bit I don’t get. Seven years of mutual hatred, and rivalry, and everything else, and it comes back to this – you’re the better person, and I’m...not. 

So, unwillingly, I say to you, thank you. (I’ll probably regret this in the morning. No. Screw that. I’ll definitely regret this in the morning. Maybe I won’t remember it. I am very drunk, you know.)

So please, to get everything back to normal, ignore this letter. I just didn’t want to be in your debt any longer.

Malfoy

P.S I want my wand back

Attaching the letter to his owl and sending it out the window, Draco Malfoy took a deep breath and passed out. 

***

Harry woke to the sound of an owl at the window of the attic. He thought for a moment that he had forgotten to let Hedwig in, but after a moment his sleep addled brain began to clear, and he rose to collect the letter. The writing on the front of the parchment was elegant and beautiful, and reminded him somewhat of muggle black and white photos. He opened the letter slowly, expecting perhaps more fan mail. 

“What the hell?” Harry muttered, reading through the letter. His first thought was indignant, shocked that Malfoy would dare write to him. Harry paused for a moment. What the hell do I do now? He thought, holding the letter gingerly with one hand, half expecting it to burst into flames or start cursing him. After a few seconds of nothing, Harry thought for a moment, and then sat down to write a reply, despite not having a single clue on how to respond. It was only hours later, after he’d sent his reply, and almost forgotten about it, that he realised it had never occurred to him to ignore the letter and not write a response. 

After almost an hour of writing nothing, he finally decided to write what he felt. 

Malfoy, 

Thanks for your letter. Surprisingly, a big part of the job is reading fan mail – it was nice to get a letter that didn’t include the words “love” or “marriage”. The “thank you” was pretty unoriginal, though. Pretty rare for a Malfoy too, I’d imagine. I’m surprised you even knew how to spell it.

Don’t worry, I hate you too. I still think you’re more than a bit of a wanker, even if you aren’t ‘evil’ anymore. As if you could ever be a nice guy. Also, I wouldn’t worry about me being a better person and all that – I may have saved your life, but I definitely don’t plan on trying to stop Ron punching you or Ginny hexing you next time they see you, so I wouldn’t thank me yet. I still haven’t decided if I won’t hex you, either.

Potter

P.S Sorry, forgot about that. I’ll send it along once it’s been checked by the Ministry.

Harry quickly, before he could think better of it, attached the letter to Malfoy’s owl. Behind him, Ron shifted in his sleep. Heart jumping to his throat, Harry shoved the letter inside one of his books and lay back down in bed, hoping his heart would stop thumping. What he’d done was something that Ron would consider unacceptable, and was something he could hardly believe himself; he hadn’t immediately burned Malfoy’s letter, and, worse, had actually written back. What the hell had he been thinking? What the hell had he just done?

“You’re the better person and I’m not” the words Malfoy had written kept running through his head on an endless loop. Was he a good person? Harry couldn’t work it out. He’d saved the Wizarding World, it was true, but he’d killed and maimed people to do it, and Harry couldn’t be sure he regretted making those choices, even if he regretted having to do it. Besides, and this was the key factor – had Harry ever really had a choice? Being Harry Potter, the Chosen One, Dumbledore’s favourite, Voldemort’s nemesis, none of that had been his choice. Similarly, Harry felt that Malfoy hadn’t had a choice – being a Malfoy, being forced to take the Mark, his path had been mapped out for him at birth, same as Harry. Could Harry say, definitively, that had he been in Malfoy’s place, he would have done any differently? Harry lay in his bed thinking about this for several hours, feeling sick to the core, until Ron finally woke with a snort and a jolt. 

***

Ginny’s 17th birthday was a quiet affair – she’d requested just family, despite everyone wanting to spoil her with a bigger event. There was an air of grief in the Burrow despite the celebrations – this was her first birthday without Fred, and everyone could feel it. But despite that, there was a cake (shaped like a broomstick), and singing, and many, many stories about Ginny – a rambunctious child, a feisty teenager, and finally a brave young woman. Arthur and Molly spoke about baby Ginny with love, and Ginny’s brothers all told tales about a time when Ginny had outwitted them, or beaten them at chess or Quidditch, or helped carry out a prank. Percy spoke fondly of her intelligence, and Fleur told a short tale about Ginny at the Yule Ball, so many years ago. Hermione and Ron laughed about some of her best rule-breaks, and Harry spoke affectionately about her prowess in the DA.   
Ginny’s 17th birthday was a quiet affair, but it was a beautiful day filled with love and gratefulness to be together.


	9. The beginning is always now

“Bloody hell, are we ever going to close this bloody case? We’ve been on it for weeks!” Ron snapped, angrily throwing down a red folder onto his desk, startling Harry, who had been almost asleep. 

“I know, mate. I don’t think a few potions shops being broken into should be our priority, should it? We’ve heard nothing about the Death Eaters in a month now.” Harry replied, picking up a file at random and paging through it idly. 

“It could be worse, I guess. We could have been assigned stake-outs on any one of the thirty people we suspect may have had interactions with Death Eaters during the war.”

Harry didn’t reply, still blankly flicking through files, and Ron, bored, went to bother Hermione. As soon as the door shut behind him, Harry whipped out a piece of thick parchment and opened it, revealing his fifth letter from Malfoy. Both Malfoy’s letters, and his own responding ones, had an air of honesty and vulnerability that always left Harry reeling – he supposed it was the combination of the fact that they’d saved each other’s lives, and that they weren’t face to face – it was always easier to tell the truth if you didn’t have to say it aloud. He couldn’t understand how he’d found a sort of comfortable back and forth with Malfoy, of all people.

Potter, 

I’m not sure why I’m continuing this communication with you. I suppose it’s the boredom – being an ex-Death Eater, I’m not exactly popular, and living in this tiny flat alone is tiresome at best, and mostly just terribly monotonous. Mother stopped by yesterday. I suppose you’ll want to know that neither of us has heard from my father yet, and I doubt we will. I think he knew he was leaving us behind, and I don’t think he cared. 

You said in your last letter that you’re bored too – that work isn’t very busy at the moment? I expect that’s why you’re continuing this charade of whatever this is, to try and get information? I’d like to be angry about it, but it’s just not worth it. 

My mother wanted to write to you. She wanted to invite you to see Teddy, but I told her I’d write to you instead. I think she was surprised, although she didn’t say anything. Anyway, if you want to visit at midday next Friday, you’d be welcome. 

Malfoy

Harry read the letter through twice, cautiously checking the door for signs of Ron reappearing, but the horizon was clear. He folded the paper carefully and put it into a drawer, and started to write a reply. 

Malfoy,

Yes, I’d like to see Teddy, it’s been a long time. I’ll try to be there at midday, although I may be delayed if work picks up. Please let your mother know. 

Harry paused. He didn’t know how to reply to the rest of Malfoy’s letter – of course he was interested to know Malfoy senior still hadn’t contacted his family, if Malfoy was to be believed, but that wasn’t why he was writing, he realised. He was, for some sick reason, interested in what Malfoy had to say. 

I don’t write just to find out about your father, although obviously I have an interest in his communications. Thinking about it, I actually want to be writing these letters. I haven’t even told anyone about them. I suppose it’s just nice to write to someone who doesn’t think of me as their bloody saviour, the golden boy, the hero of the war, even if it’s because you hate me. 

Potter

P.S. Will you be there?

Before he could think better of it, he gave the letter to his new owl, who flew out the window just in time for Ron to bounce back into the room, rejuvenated by his visit to Hermione next door. 

“There’s been another blasted break in, we’ve got to go mate.” Ron snatched a couple of his things from his desk and bounded to the door, waiting patiently for Harry to collect his wand, his I.D and his cloak. 

Minutes later they were stood inside a potions shop that had clearly been ransacked and hurriedly put back together again. Hermione had reluctantly accompanied them, having given in to Ron’s begging, and she was reading two books and writing notes in a corner as Harry and Ron spoke to the owner. 

The owner left them with a list of missing ingredients and objects and vanished into the back room, looking vaguely like he might burst into tears at any moment. 

“Oh hey, look at this – Acromantula venom – remember Aragog?” Harry smirked as Ron paled at the mention of the huge spider that he still, on occasion, had nightmares about. 

“Did you say Acromantula venom, Harry?” Hermione appeared next to him so suddenly he jumped, snatching the paper out of his hands. “That’s a very rare ingredient, I can’t imagine it’s used in many spells, and certainly no common ones, so I don’t know why someone would bother taking it over, say, bats wings, or fluxweed.” Hermione continued to mutter to herself for a moment before turning back to the boys. 

“Actually, do either of you have the lists from the previous break-ins?” Harry shook his head dumbly, but Ron’s face lit up. 

“Uh, yeah, I do!” He grinned, brandishing several haphazardly folded pieces of parchment. Hermione looked at him fondly for a second before taking the papers and disappearing back to her corner. 

Shrugging at each other bemusedly, the boys continued with their inspection of the place, looking for signs of spell work or any way to I.D. the perpetrators. They'd just confirmed their suspicions that it was the same people each time when Hermione called out. 

“Aha! I knew it!” Hermione cried out, beckoning Harry and Ron over to her corner, where now more than a few books lay around her in a semicircle. 

“Look at these lists, notice anything?” Without giving either a chance to respond, Hermione barrelled on. “None of the ingredients appear on more than one list – since we can be reasonably certain the perpetrators are the same for each break in, then it would stand to reason that they are breaking in to replenish their stocks for whatever spell they are casting over and over again, such as a healing potion, or protection spell, or even Polyjuice. But that doesn’t seem to be the case – only rare or strange ingredients are being taken, the Acromantula venom for example, and the unicorn blood and dragon liver, each of which have only been taken once, and none of these are used for any common spells I can think of.” 

“What do you mean, Hermione?” Harry asked, catching Ron’s eye over her head. 

“I don’t think this is an ordinary criminal, Harry. I think this may be the Death Eaters.” Ron tensed beside her as she continued. “I’ll have to do more research, of course, but anything that needs all three of these ingredients, and even half the others listed, would have to be pretty potent, if not downright dangerous.”

Taking back the papers, she returned to her corner, only to pull out yet more books from her tiny bag, pushing her frazzled hair out of her face as she buried her head in the pile of books. 

“Blimey, does she just carry all those around with her?” Ron sounded both horrified and amazed as he continued, “She’s mental, she is!”

“I suppose we should tell Savage and Shacklebolt. If Hermione thinks she’s onto something…” Harry trailed off. Both he and Ron knew there was little chance Hermione could be wrong, although they both wished that this time she was.

***

“Right, you three. I’ve got some news for you, but you’re not going to like it.” Shacklebolt stood in front of Harry, Ron and Hermione with a grave face. 

“So long as you’re not sending us on stake-out duty, I reckon we’ll get over it! Only that could be worse than this.” Ron sniggered, gesturing to the piles of books strewn across the table at which the three teenagers sat. They had spent days sat reading through book after book of increasingly awful potions and spells, some of which had actually made Harry gag just thinking about the results. Hermione’s eyes frowned across at Ron, the rest of her face obscured by a huge book. 

“We’ve decided that we need outside help on this one – although you’re doing brilliant work, we don’t think you have the expertise needed to crack this case.”

“That’s not bad news! That’s great!” Ron seemed delighted at the possibility of passing this case off to anybody else and getting back out into the field. Harry, however, was more wary. 

“You mean we’ll be working with an expert?” He asked, and Hermione finally put down the book as she looked up, interested in the possibility of working with a potions expert. 

“Yes. We’ve deliberated, a lot, and interviewed many candidates, but the reality is there’s only one real option.” Shacklebolt seemed hesitant to reveal the identity of the mystery expert. 

“Well, who is it? Hopefully they’ve got some bright ideas, because frankly we’re stumped, although I’m loathe to admit that, of course.” Hermione looked intrigued, and Ron looked slightly put out by the realisation he would have to continue reading the books, but Harry could see Shacklebolt’s clear discomfort. He had a horrifying thought – “Things are finally looking up for me – I can’t say much about it, but I might have a project coming up.” The words of Malfoy’s latest letter echoed in his ears –Malfoy had been keen to impress upon Harry that the project was nothing to do with his father, and this seemed like the exact sort of project that would excite Malfoy, who he remembered had always loved Snape and his horrible Potions lessons. Even before Shacklebolt spoke, Harry knew what was coming.

“The only person available with real expertise with Potions, and knowledge of the Dark Arts, is Draco Malfoy.” Shacklebolt paused momentarily to allow for Ron’s furious curse, and continued hurriedly. “He will of course be under constant supervision, and will have to hand over his wand to a member of the Auror team upon entry of the Ministry. I appreciate this may be difficult for you, but I trust you will be able to remain impartial and focused on finding results.” 

“Impartial? Not likely! I’m not working with that bloody twat!” Ron snapped, pushing several books off the table in anger. “I’m not spending a single second with that cowardly slime ball, I don’t care if he’s the only bloody expert in the world!” He snatched up his wand and stormed off. Hermione and Harry watched after him, but didn’t attempt to follow, knowing Ron would need to cool down before being capable of civilised conversation. 

“Well, that went as well as can be expected.” Shacklebolt said, sitting down in Ron’s recently vacated seat. “What do you two say?” 

There was a long silence. Hermione looked to be deep in thought, and Harry felt sick – he could only think of the letters he had written Malfoy under the blind, naïve assumption that he would never again have to face him. It had been like writing to a faceless, nameless pen pal of sorts, someone who knew him only as Harry, not as Harry Potter, but the thought of looking at Malfoy’s smug face made him want to throw up. How could he have been so stupid as to forget what a bastard Malfoy was just for the sake of an easy conversation?

“I’m not sure if Ron will forgive me, but I’m willing to try. Malfoy is a smug bastard, but if he can behave, I will tolerate him for the sake of this case.” Hermione sounded unwilling, and it was rare to hear her swear, but Shacklebolt looked relieved. 

Harry nodded and agreed, feeling that it was imperative to end this conversation as quickly as possible so he could get out of there. 

“Well, in that case, I think it might be best if we temporarily re-assign Ron to work with Hopkins in the field, and the two of you remain on this case and work with Malfoy. Harry, as Hermione is about to start her work with the legal department, you will be his supervisor and research partner, and Hermione can assist.” 

Harry quickly agreed and ran out, leaving Hermione and Shacklebolt to discuss the case so far.

The Burrow was full of tension that night – Ron was still fuming, even going so far as to yell at his father for allowing Malfoy into the Ministry at all, and Hermione was almost reduced to tears trying to calm him down. Harry barely spoke a word to anyone, even though Ginny tried several times to catch his attention. Some part of him felt bad for ignoring her, but he couldn’t focus – he felt like he was back at Hogwarts, preoccupied with thoughts of Malfoy and his nefarious plots. He knew that if Ron ever found out about their letters he would never forgive him, and he was hard pressed to believe Hermione or Ginny would be understanding. 

***

Draco Malfoy felt sick. He’d been almost excited about the prospect of researching potions, spells and Dark Arts objects – it was a particular interest for him, given where he’d grown up, and who with. Severus had always been keen to encourage Malfoy to see the beauty and complexity in the potions and spells they created, rather than focusing on the way they were used by his father and the other Death Eaters. But now, holding the letter from the Ministry explaining that he would be working with Potter, and Granger, he felt sick. This is karma, isn’t it? He couldn’t stop thinking, all the words from all his letters to Potter ringing in his ears, how stupidly honest he’d been when he’d thought he’d never see bloody Potter again.


	10. A million epiphanies occuring

Harry and Hermione waited awkwardly in the Ministry library, silent and still. They sat at a circular table, with large piles of books, parchment and quills in front of three chairs. Both Harry and Hermione were determinedly reading books and making notes, but not even Hermione’s heart was really in it. Hermione was quiet, and Harry could tell she was still upset about her fight with Ron – they still hadn’t made up - Ron had spent all morning out with Hopkins on duty, having left before Hermione woke up. Ron was still angry with Harry too, having ignored him all night and throughout breakfast, and Harry wasn’t sure how to fix the situation. Both Harry and Hermione were still preoccupied with thoughts of Ron when a cough at the door interrupted their work. 

“I’ll leave Malfoy here with the two of you for a few hours. I’ll be back at six to check up on you.” Shacklebolt stepped into the room, holding out Malfoy’s wand to Harry. He took it unwillingly, feeling the familiarity of the wand he’d used during the end of the war, and stashed it in his back pocket. Malfoy appeared behind Shacklebolt, accompanied by McKinnon. Malfoy looked pale and sullen, but his hair was tightly slicked back, and he was dressed sleekly in all black. He stalked forward and sat in the empty chair surrounded by books and got straight to work, not sparing a single glance at Harry or Hermione. Hermione smiled at Shacklebolt as he and McKinnon left and returned to her books, but Harry couldn’t help watching Malfoy as he wrote – Harry knew Malfoy’s writing was flowery and cursive, and he watched Malfoy’s hand flow across the paper at great speed. He was surprised to see he was left-handed. He wondered how he’d missed that in six years of lessons together.

***

Draco could feet Potter staring at him as he made notes on the properties of dragon liver when paired with other ingredients. Normally a topic that would have fascinated him, he could barely focus enough to write fluidly, feeling only the heat of Potter’s gaze. After perhaps five minutes, he threw down his quill. 

“What is it, Potter?” He snapped, glaring at him. Potter flushed as Granger tore herself away from her books to observe. 

“Nothing! I was just wondering…if you’d been told what to look for.” Potter floundered. 

“Clearly, Potter, or I would have asked.” Draco raised an eyebrow and Potter flushed further. 

“Shut up, Malfoy.” Potter snapped back and returned to his book, scrawling his chicken-scratch writing on a piece of parchment next to him. Draco watched him write around edges of his book, observing that his nails were bitten down to the quick, and his right hand was stained with ink. As Potter wrote he bit his bottom lip, tearing tiny slivers of skin off. A disgusting habit, Draco thought, but refrained from pointing it out, feeling Granger may punch him again. Shaking himself, he returned to his notes on dragon livers. 

The next few hours flew by as Draco refused to look up out of his books again, ignoring Potter and Granger’s hushed murmurs and rustling papers as they conferred. They appeared to be searching for specific spells, whereas he had been tasked with documenting the unique purposes of each rare ingredient, individually and when combined with others. He wrote mostly from memory, infrequently checking the books strewed around him – potions had long been his source of comfort in Malfoy Manor, and he was pretty much an expert. 

It felt like no time at all had passed when Shacklebolt returned to the room to collect Draco, retrieving his wand from Potter and escorting him out of the Ministry in silence. As Draco left the room, he twisted slightly to watch Potter lift his head and stare at him, a slight crease folding between his eyebrows. 

***

Harry and Hermione packed up their things quickly, keen to get to Diagon Alley – a plan had been in the works for a few weeks to meet up with Ron, Ginny, Neville, Luna, Hannah Abbot, Dean and Seamus for a night out at the pub, and although Ron was still angry, both Harry and Hermione knew he wouldn’t miss out on the chance to see their friends again before they all went their separate ways in September. Ginny and Luna were returning to Hogwarts for seventh year, and Neville was joining them to become Professor Sprout’s assistant, one day to take over when she retired. Harry couldn’t remember what the others were planning on doing, but he was looking forward to finding out. 

The nine teenagers sat in the Leaky Cauldron for hours, crowded round one large table. Ginny sat close to Harry, her hand brushing past his frequently. On his other side Ron and Hermione had clearly made up, his arm wrapped firmly round her shoulders as she beamed. Neville’s face was bright pink as he held Hannah’s hand and explained that in the last few months they had decided to start dating – Dean and Seamus wolf whistled at this news, which only increased Neville’s blush and embarrassed him so much he accidentally knocked over his drink. Hannah calmly spelled the mess away, and Harry smiled to see them so happy. Dean and Seamus were very loud and gleeful as they announced that they, too, were dating, saying they finally felt comfortable declaring it in public after a year-long relationship already. 

Luna seemed unfazed by the fact that she was the only single person present, floating around the table to sit with new people during each round of drinks. She proudly told the group that after graduating Hogwarts she was going to join her father in working on the Quibbler permanently, which she hoped would gain more credibility now the war was over. Harry barely thought before offering to do an interview for the magazine, to which Luna gave him a huge smacking kiss on his forehead, looking absolutely delighted, which may have had more to do with the several Butterbeers she had drunk. 

Hannah in turn announced that until she had decided what she wanted to do, she would be working at the Leaky Cauldron to earn some money. Dean and Seamus then told Ron that they would be helping out George at Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes until he found other help, and then they would travel the world together until they felt ready to settle down at what they called “real, boring jobs”. 

Many hours later, and the pub closed in the early hours of the morning, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny finally stumbled back into the Burrow, filled with joy after such a pleasant, rowdy evening with their friends. It was dark in the attic when Harry and Ron lay down in their beds, still smiling as they listened to Hermione trying to get Ginny into bed. 

“Ginny, shush! Close your eyes, that’s right…no, Ginny, go to sleep!” Hermione could be heard through several floors as she gave up and started humming a beautiful muggle lullaby to Ginny. For a few moments Harry heard Ron’s breathing silence, and then he spoke. 

“I want to marry her.” He whispered, sounding amazed. 

“Who, Hermione?” 

“No, I want to marry Celestina Warbeck. Yes, you idiot, Hermione!”

“Alright, no need to get snarky with me.” A few seconds pause, then, “that’s great, mate, really it is. When are you going to ask her?” 

“I don’t know...” 

“Well, she’ll definitely say yes, so I’d say sooner rather than later.” 

“You think?” 

“Yeah, for sure.” 

***

The Weasley family woke up to a Hogwarts owl crashing into the kitchen window, bearing Ginny’s letter bearing information and book lists. To everybody’s amazement, but not surprise, her letter also contained a small badge inscribed with the words “Head Girl”. Hermione shrieked when she saw it, almost piercing Ron’s ear drums as she was standing right beside him, but he laughed it off, pulling Ginny into a massive bear hug. Mr and Mrs Weasley were beside themselves with pride, and declared the day would be a day of celebration, with Mrs Weasley immediately starting to make Ginny’s favourite meals for later that day. The teenagers tumbled out of the house to start a Quidditch match, waiting only for Bill and Fleur to apparate over, having heard Ginny’s news within minutes. The Quidditch game was narrowly won by Ginny, Bill and George, who started to dance and cheer triumphantly as Ron rushed to be comforted by Hermione, pretending to be devastated. 

It was late that night when Hermione appeared in the doorway of the attic, dark eyes pleading with Harry to swap rooms for the night as she climbed into bed with Ron. Harry hightailed it downstairs, only hesitating for a second to knock on Ginny’s door before entering. He found her sat up in bed, hair wild around her face, dressed in a tank top. She was gazing down at her hands, which were tightly clenched around her new badge. Instead of getting in Hermione’s vacated bed, Harry dithered and dallied for a long moment before sitting on the end of Ginny’s bed. 

“Well done, Gin. You deserve it.” He spoke quietly, reaching out a hand to awkwardly wrap around Ginny’s clenched fists. Her fists relaxed in her lap and she looked up at Harry with a wide eyed, soft face. She tossed the badge onto her bedside table as she leant forward to lean her forehead against his. His breathing hitched at the closeness of her, and she placed a warm hand on his cheek. 

“I love you, Harry.” She whispered, her breath brushing his face. Thinking of her bright smile and loud laugh, her fierceness on the Quidditch pitch and her swiftness with a wand, he replied. 

“I love you too, Gin.” 

He’d barely finished speaking when she shifted, pressing her chapped lips against his, tongue slipping between his teeth. The kiss deepened and they moved awkwardly, ending up lying down, Ginny beneath Harry. Ginny’s hands trailed up and down his back, eventually removing his t-shirt as he placed his hands on her shoulders, edging down the straps of her top. 

Hours later, long after it had finished, Harry watched the sun rise through the curtains of Ginny’s window as she slept with her head on his chest. Her hand was cradled around his shoulder, and one his arms was looped around her waist lightly. Harry hadn’t slept, not even for a moment, but he’d remained still and silent for hours, not wanting to wake her up. He couldn’t stop thinking. 

He’d enjoyed it, obviously, but he couldn’t get rid of the niggling thought deep inside him that it hadn’t been as enjoyable as it should. As much as he’d tried to get Ron never to speak of his nights with Hermione, Ron had occasionally forgotten, and had raved about how wonderful it had been, how incredible and passionate and loving every time had been. Harry tried, but he just couldn’t compare Ron’s descriptions with the fumbled, slightly awkward but fairly enjoyable experience he’d just had. He knew it could be painful for girls (although it hadn’t seemed to be a problem for Ginny), but he’d never heard of guys not enjoying their first time with their girlfriends. He just couldn’t work it out. 

There was a quick knock on the door and Hermione slipped in, hair ruffled, t-shirt on backwards, blushing at finding Harry awake. She smiled at him brightly, and suddenly his mind cleared. He thought of Hermione’s bravery and her intelligence, her ruthlessness and her determination, her frizzy hair and funny smile, and he felt his heart break. He felt the same love for his best friend as he did his girlfriend, and he realised what the problem was – he wasn’t in love with Ginny, not in the way he was meant to be, not in the way she was with him.


	11. I thought that love would last forever

The next few days after Harry’s unpleasant revelation passed almost in a blur – he worked at the Ministry during the day, where he and Hermione toiled over increasingly hard-to-read books, getting no closer to solving the mystery, all the while trying desperately to ignore Malfoy’s enormous presence across the table, which seemed to be almost magnetic. In the evenings he came home to the Burrow and helped Ron plan his proposal, and dreaded the nights, when he would sleep with Ginny and feel immense, suffocating guilt at his lack of enjoyment in the act even though he could see she was happier than ever. 

He spent Friday lunch at Andromeda’s, where he spent an hour cooing over Teddy, feeling distinctly unlike himself, and chatting with Andromeda over tea and biscuits. Narcissa appeared in the kitchen roughly half an hour into Harry’s visit, and he felt he couldn’t leave so soon, so he remained seated as she joined the table. She looked different to the other times he had seen her – rather than looking impeccably dressed, cold and cruel, or unkempt and distressed, she looked almost casual. Her greeting to Harry was too relaxed to be natural, but he appreciated the effort, and replied in kind. Steering clear of any topics he felt would cause problems, instead the three talked about Teddy and how fast he was growing. Malfoy was not there, and Harry couldn’t have been more relieved – the thought of looking at his face for even a second more irritated him beyond belief. 

***

Saturday was, Ron decided, going to be the big day – he’d spent hours talking about it with Harry, and he knew how he was going to do it. He was going to propose to Hermione on Saturday, he decided, and was amazed at the lack of nerves he felt, even as Saturday approached rapidly. He’d spent hours practicing his speech, and he’d even practiced whipping out the ring and kneeling, so he didn’t fluff that and ruin everything. He always felt, vaguely, somewhere deep in his chest, that Hermione deserved the best man there could be – the bravest, the strongest, the cleverest, the most everything, and although he knew that wasn’t him, he was confident she loved him, and for that love he knew he would make himself into anything she wanted. 

And so he found himself walking hand in hand with Hermione in the garden of the Burrow, leading her towards the pond where they’d first confessed their love for each other. He could hardly take his eyes off her – she was almost glowing in the setting sun, her skin golden, eyes shining as she talked about something, although he could hardly hear through the buzzing in his ears. Finally, he slowed his walk to a stop as they reached the pond, reaching out and catching her free hand with his, turning her to face him. 

“You know I love you, right?” He interrupted her awkwardly, cursing under his breath that he’d already managed to ruin his perfect, suave speech. But the light of her smile lifted his spirits as she replied. 

“Of course, Ronald. I love you too.” Her voice was soft, but inquisitive. He loosed one of his hands and lifted it to cup her cheek, feeling his hand tremble against her soft skin. 

“I think you’re amazing, ‘Mione. You’re so brave, and clever, and beautiful…” his voice cracked and he had to pause for a second to stare into her deep, dark eyes. She didn’t say anything, waiting patiently. Deep inside his mind he wondered if she already knew what was coming, but then he thought that she was just kind enough to listen through his mangled speech without judgment or impatience.

“You’re so beautiful, so beautiful it almost hurts, and I know we fight sometimes, or, or, a lot, I know, but Hermione I don’t think I can live without you.” He continued, and stepped back, pulling the velvet ring box out of his pocket. He stepped back and knelt to the ground, unable to look away from Hermione’s face, which was flushing rose pink as she gasped, hands flying to cover her open mouth. 

“Hermione, will you marry me?” He held out the ring to her, heart in his throat as he waited for her response. 

She fell to her knees and threw her arms around him, kissing him rapidly, over and over again. His lips were wet, salty, and he realised with a start that she was crying. 

“Wait, let me try again! I can do better -” He tried to stand up but she shook her head, a sob escaping her mouth. She tried to say something but he talked over her, feeling panicked at the sight of her tears. 

“I know we’re young, and that you’re going to be busy, and I know I have to be better, and…” 

“Will you shut up, Ronald? I’m trying to say yes!” She finally cried out, almost laughing at the shocked look on his face. They fell silent as she held out her hand to him, and he slipped the ring on with shaking fingers. 

“You mean it? You want to get married?” He asked, dumbfounded, and she rolled her eyes slightly before leaning forward and catching his lips in a deep kiss. 

“I want it more than anything, Ron.” She replied, drying her tears with the sleeve of her cardigan, smiling brightly. His own smile spread wildly across his face. He led her slowly back towards the house, where he gave Harry, who was waiting in the doorway to the kitchen, a quick nod. Harry vanished back into the kitchen, and when they entered they were greeted by cheering voices and confetti. 

***

Harry couldn’t have been happier for his two best friends – Ron’s face seemed permanently fixed into a sort of disbelieving grin, and Hermione, slightly damp and tear-stained, had refused to let go of Ron’s hand all evening, even as the family ate. The two vanished into the attic as soon as they could, and this time Molly had no complaints, except to demand that Harry slept on the spare bed in Ginny’s room, and they would behave, or he could sleep in George’s, thank you very much, at which Ginny had winked at him, looking mischievous. 

But it was with a heavy heart that Harry followed Ginny up to bed that night, knowing he had only one course of action. As she climbed into her bed, rather than joining her, as he had been, he instead sat on the vacant bed. His throat felt tight and his tongue like wax.

“Ginny, you know I love you, right?” His voice was too low, his words too clipped. 

“I love you too.” Ginny replied, reaching out her hands to him, but he pulled away. Her face fell, confused, hurt. 

“I love you, Ginny, but…I don’t think I’m in love with you.” He didn’t pause to see her reaction, talking blindly on, feeling sort of like he was headed face first into a brick wall at great speed. “You’re one of my favourite people, ever, but I just don’t think I feel that way. It’s nothing to do with you, I promise, but it’s just that the sex doesn’t feel right and I can’t stop thinking….” His voice trailed away as he realised that mentioning the sex had been the wrong thing to say. Her face, which had been on the way to falling apart, had suddenly stiffened into stone. 

“No, no, wait, that’s not what I meant, I just mean that I love you in the same way as I do Ron and Hermione, and I’m so sorry, you have no idea…” He was interrupted by the slam of the door in his face – she had stormed out, and he heard her storming into George’s room moments later. He felt sick. He could hardly breathe. He was on his hands and knees retching, he was sobbing, tears pooling between his lips as he gasped and gargled and cried. He’d ruined everything, he’d broken her heart and his and why? Because he didn’t enjoy sex? Because he loved Ginny in a different way than he’d thought? Because he felt guilty for not feeling the same as she did? He was selfish and cruel and relieved, Jesus Christ he was relieved, and even as he cried he felt a huge weight lifting off his shoulders, and that only made him cry more. 

***

Ginny sat on Fred’s old bed and wept, huge body-shaking sobs that rattled in her chest and tore out of her throat. George was in the garden, by Fred’s grave, as always, and so she was free to wail as she wanted, knowing they’d long since cast a silencing spell on the walls and door. And wail she did, like a banshee, hands twisted too tightly in her hair, shoulders curved in on her body, shaking. She felt sick. She could hardly breathe. She loved Harry Potter with her whole heart, her whole body – she ached for him always, eyes following him across rooms, ears finely tuned to his voice, his breath. And he didn’t love her back! After a lifetime of loving Harry Potter, it felt like death itself. It felt like drowning, like suffocating, like being buried alive. 

She’d grown up listening to stories of Harry Potter, the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived, and she’d been star-struck. And then she’d met him, and he’d been nice, and friendly, and she’d been infatuated. He’d saved her life, and she’d fallen in love in the space of a heartbeat, between breaths. She’d grown up loving him - watching him defy death itself, how could she not? And now he was sat downstairs and she was upstairs, dying, knowing she’d never again get to touch him, kiss him, and she couldn’t fucking breathe. 

The sun had started to rise by the time her sobs started to slow and her body had stopped trembling. Sitting up, head pounding, mouth dry, she fumbled for a piece of parchment and a quill. She scrawled a quick note to her parents, detailing that she was going to stay at Luna’s till Hogwarts started, that she was OK, that she just wanted to spend some time alone. Then she returned to her room hesitantly, but found no sign of Harry. She packed her things quickly but methodically, trying to focus on anything but the sickening pain in her chest. She looked round her room once, and disapparated.

***

It had been awkward for Harry to explain, in as few words as he could, that he and Ginny had broken up, and that he was sorry for it, but thought it was for the best. He explained that he’d be moving into Grimmauld Place that day, and Ron and Hermione were welcome to come, there was more than enough space. They agreed, although mostly to keep an eye on Harry, whose voice was crackly and face was blotchy with tears. 

He spent the day sat in his new bedroom trying to avoid listening to the sounds of Ron and Hermione enjoying their new affianced status next door. Finally, with a groan, he silenced their walls and pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill from a drawer. He started to write to Malfoy, trying not to picture his face in his mind as he wrote. 

Malfoy,

I’ve moved into Grimmauld Place. Ron and Hermione are here with me. I couldn’t stay at the Burrow, not after me and Ginny broke it off – everyone was asking questions and wanted to know why, and I just couldn’t face it. 

Why do people always feel entitled to knowing what’s going on in your head? Why do they feel the need to knock and knock and always expect an answer? Why can’t my head be mine and only mine? In fact, why can't I be mine and only mine? I’m sick of other people thinking I’m theirs, even Ron and Hermione, although I know they mean well. 

Have you got any further with the research? I know I’m meant to be doing it, even on weekends, but I think I’d rather die than open a book right now.

Harry

In his sleep-deprived, miserable state he automatically signed his first name without realising and gave the folded letter to his Ministry owl, throwing himself back onto his bed as it flew off to find Malfoy.

***

Harry and Hermione sat opposite Malfoy, books and files strewed across the table between them. It had been a few days since they’d moved into Grimmauld Place after the break up, and they’d continued their research at home, even enlisting Ron again. Late last night, or perhaps early this morning, they’d stumbled across a book of Dark Arts and Potions, and had finally found several possible spells. 

“This first one here, it uses almost everything taken, except for the dragon liver, and a few other less rare things, which could have been a decoy to throw us off the scent. It’s a rather nasty spell, used mostly in the 17th century by dark wizards who wanted to find a way to extract magic from muggleborns. It was never proven to work, but I suppose it could be used if it was adapted.” Hermione wrinkled her nose as she underlined a couple of ingredients with a pencil before passing the book across to Harry, who flicked to a second page.

“And the second one we found uses the Acromantula venom and the dragon liver, but it’s equally horrible – it can theoretically be used to siphon the life force of a magical being and transfer it to another. Both these spells have something written in another language though, and we can’t read it.” 

“Hold up!” Malfoy took the book out of Harry’s hands and started to read the spell’s ingredients closely, shifting round the table to show Harry, who peered over Malfoy’s shoulder to read. Hermione frowned, wondering at the familiarity of their interaction. 

“This is Ancient Greek. Many old spells were written in Greek, rather than Latin which is what we use now.” Malfoy explained. Hermione looked put out that she hadn’t worked it out. There was a long silence as Malfoy read the spells, closely analysing the ingredients required and the words needed.

“I think, and this is just a theory, that it might be possible to combine both these spells – if you substitute the asphodel with belladonna, and added boomslang skin and a few other ingredients, it might actually be possible to…create magical life.” Malfoy trailed off as he flicked between the two spells, looking very concerned. Hermione seemed to catch on much quicker than Harry. 

“Are you saying, brewed and performed correctly, an amalgamation of these spells might actually be able to induce a pregnancy of a magical child in any woman?” Harry couldn’t quite decipher Hermione’s tone. 

“Yes, but it would require a massive amount of power, and…” he trailed off. 

“What? Get on with it.” Harry snapped, and almost bit his tongue off at his sharp tone. He still felt uncomfortable sat in front of Malfoy and not throwing punches and spitting out insults, and he felt even more uncomfortable in the wake of the letters they’d written each other that they still hadn’t acknowledged. Malfoy raised an eyebrow at Harry pointedly.

“Fine. Pretty please get on with it.” Harry repeated with exaggerated politeness. Malfoy nodded, lips folded into a half-smirk and continued. 

“It would take some sort of human sacrifice. I’m not sure what – I’d have to do some calculations – I could use your Arithmetic skills, actually, Granger, if you wouldn’t mind.” Malfoy sounded very blasé about the human sacrifices, but Harry could see his fists tighten around the edges of the book. 

“A human sacrifice?” Hermione’s cry was very shrill and high-pitched, but for once Harry couldn’t complain – he was sure his voice would have sounded the same. 

“We need to get this to Shacklebolt now. The Death Eaters are going to kill someone.” Harry snatched the book out of Malfoy’s hands and grasped Hermione’s wrist, pulling her out of her chair. 

Half way through the door, pushing Hermione in front of him, Harry paused. He twisted to face Malfoy, face hesitant. 

“Thank you, Malfoy.” And then he vanished through the door.


	12. Here is the deepest secret nobody knows

The recent, but brief, sighting of Lucius Malfoy and Valentina Nott in France had everyone on edge, including Draco Malfoy. He didn’t say anything, but Harry could tell he wasn’t sleeping – he looked as pale as he always had, but Harry knew the signs. After all, he could recognise them in himself, so why not someone else? 

Working out what the ingredients had been for had been, unfortunately, only the first step in foiling the Death Eater’s plan, as Hermione reminded Harry and Ron at least twice a day. They still had to work out what the criteria for the sacrifices were, and where and when they would happen, and it was hard work. Additionally, nobody knew what Lucius and Valentina were doing in southern France, and that was even more unnerving. Communication between the British Ministry and other countries had always been shaky at best, even more so during Voldemort’s reign of terror as the other countries attempted to stay out of his way, and it was with this in mind that Shacklebolt invited over three French Aurors to work with the British Aurors.

And so Monday morning found Harry waiting patiently in the lecture hall with all his fellow Aurors. Ron and Hermione sat beside him, eager to meet the French Aurors, hoping their enthusiasm might cheer up Harry. It had been a week since the breakup, and Ginny was now back at Hogwarts with Luna and Neville; She had not written any letters to Harry, but he knew from Ron and Hermione that although she was very upset, she was trying to put it out of her mind and focus on her studies. Harry’s own mood had been wildly switching from grief and regret to relief and timid joy, and he had been very difficult to deal with, although Ron and Hermione would never admit so.

Shacklebolt strode into the room, followed by several men and women dressed in the French Auror uniform of black and gold. A tall, wiry fellow with short, dark hair stepped forward to introduce himself as Captain Dion Montague. He spoke for a moment about their theories of why the Death Eaters had been seen in France, including a theory that suggested they were looking to relocate. Hermione snorted under her breath, and Harry couldn’t help but agree. Then stepped forward a short but stocky woman with a scarred arm, who introduced herself as Captain Ottilie Quincy, and a tall, lithe, younger man with bright eyes and an angular face, who introduced himself as Captain Baptiste Schiffre. His voice was low and smooth, and had barely a trace of an accent, and Harry’s mouth was suddenly dry. 

Harry was grateful when the initial introductions were done and he could stand up, pouring himself a glass of water which he drank with a wooden tongue. He was facing the wall as he drank, listening to Ron and Hermione meet Captain Montague, smiling as he listened to Montague’s surprise at the clear youth of Ron and Hermione. As he smiled into his glass, he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. Whirling round so quickly he spilt his drink, he came face to face with Captain Schiffre. 

The young man held out his hand for Harry to shake, dark eyes looking out seriously from his thin face. 

“You are Auror Potter, no? I am Captain Schiffre. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” 

Harry took his offered hand and shook it, feeling embarrassed at the water stain down his shirt. 

“Yeah, you can call me Harry, though.” Harry took back his hand after what felt like an enormously long time, fighting the urge to pat down his untameable hair. 

“Not a fan of formalities, then? In that case, you may call me Baptiste, if you so desire.” Schiffre’s voice sank slightly slower at the end of his sentence, and Harry found himself flushing. 

Their strangely tense introduction was shortly interrupted by Ron and Hermione as they pulled the two men into their conversation with the other two French Aurors. 

Malfoy had apparently written to Shacklebolt detailing a list of ingredients that would still be needed for the Death Eater spell to work, and Shacklebolt made quick work of pairing off the Aurors to go on stake outs of any potions shops that stocked the necessary ingredients. Ron and Hermione were gladly partnered together, as they could plan their wedding at the same time, and Hopkins was relieved to pair up with the female French Auror, as apparently she’d known Tonks when she was younger, Harry wasn’t quite sure how. Before Harry could speak up to request McKinnon, or perhaps Dawlish, he found himself standing next to Baptiste, who had a half-smile on his face as he led Harry towards a fireplace. 

*** 

Harry and Baptiste had been sat in a pub opposite their allocated potions shop for several hours in relative silence, and Harry had almost begun to despair that they’d spend the whole six hours in silence when Baptiste finally spoke. 

“So, you’re the famous Harry Potter.” He stated calmly, not taking his eyes off the shop in front of them. 

“Uh, yeah, I guess. I mean, yeah, that’s me.” Harry shifted awkwardly in his seat. He hadn’t been expecting this. Maybe Baptiste was some crazy fan, or he didn’t believe in Harry’s ability to be a real Auror, or something. 

“And what do you do when you’re not defeating Dark wizards?” Baptiste’s voice was smooth like honey. Harry shook his head quickly, trying to work out where that thought had come from. 

“I like Quidditch. And I liked Defence against the Dark Arts at school, so, I guess I like learning spells, too.” 

“I see. I was rather good at Quidditch at school, it can make one feel very…free.” He had a slow, relaxed manner of speaking that reminded Harry not unpleasantly of Snape, although it felt more calming than Snape ever had. 

The conversation lulled as they watched someone enter the potions shop, but they exited only a few minutes later, and both men relaxed. They spoke for a while about Hogwarts, comparing it to Beauxbatons, where Baptiste had attended school. Harry was relieved to find he knew Fleur quite well, which gave them an easy topic to talk about. Harry had finally started to feel comfortable, happy even, in the conversation when Baptiste asked another question.

“A nice young man like you must be popular with the ladies, no?” 

Harry winced. He thought for a moment about not answering, but thought it might be rude.

“Uh, I’m not sure. I was dating Ginny Weasley for a long time, but not anymore.” Harry couldn’t imagine a more awkward conversation, and he wondered wildly if he could pretend he saw something in the shop to get Baptiste to stop asking him uncomfortable questions.

“Ah! So you are, one could say, available?” Baptiste’s voice suddenly had a stronger French accent, and when Harry twisted slightly to see his face, it had a strange look plastered on it. 

Harry breathed a sigh of relief when someone else entered the shop, which appeared to be the start of a busy period for the shop owner. Conversation after that remained limited to observations on the shop’s customers until they were relieved by another pair of Aurors.

Harry arrived home to find another letter from Malfoy on his desk. He supposed he should be thinking of him as Draco, as that was what he now signed his letters, but Harry found it made him feel too strange inside.

Harry,

I hear my father was spotted in France. I don’t know anything about it, of course, but if I had to guess I’d say he was visiting our house near Nice. I know he stored a few Dark objects there during in the war, so that may be worth checking out. I can send you the address if you’d like. 

Please offer my sincere congratulations to Weasley and Granger – I may not like them, but I do not begrudge them their happiness. They are lucky. Sometimes I wish I could be so lucky.

Apparently Teddy sat up today for the first time. Mother wrote me, she thinks he is going to start crawling soon. I thought you might want to know. 

Draco

Harry read the letter several times, and then called Shacklebolt through the fireplace, stating that he had an anonymous tip about Malfoy’s French house. He hoped he hadn’t woken Shacklebolt – it was very late. Then he wrote a reply.

Draco,

Thank you for your tip. I’ve called it in. I’ll let you know what happens. 

You’re right, Ron and Hermione are lucky – they’re planning their wedding at the moment, I think they want it to be an autumn wedding – I think they want to get married as soon as possible. Can’t say I blame them. If I loved someone like they love each other, I’d want to be married quickly too. 

Can I suppose by your previous letter that you and Pansy Parkinson are no longer an item? Were you ever? I could never really tell.

Thank you for letting me know about Teddy. I know I ought to visit more, but work is terrible busy at the moment and I can’t really spare the time. Three French Aurors are working with us for the time being. Two of them are very polite and clearly see me only as the famous Harry Potter, but one of them actually seems to be more down to earth, he treats me more like Harry than Potter, if that makes sense. 

Harry

Harry sent the letter with his Ministry owl, barely even batting an eye as he saw it fly away towards Malfoy – writing these letters had developed their relationship into a sort of friendship – they were civil to each other in public now, maybe even cordial, and downright chatty in their letters, and Harry had to admit it was much better than their previous rivalry. 

***

Draco read Harry’s latest letter as soon as he woke up the next morning, citing boredom as the reason for his eagerness. He felt an unpleasant twisting in his stomach as he read about the French Aurors – in particular, the one who apparently wanted to befriend Harry. He couldn’t quite work out why he cared, but it irritated the hell out of him. They’d cultivated a sort of friendship over the last few weeks, and he was obscenely pleased by it. He sometimes felt like he was still that tiny eleven year old boy holding out his hand to Harry Potter, only this time he wasn’t sure he was being rejected.

He read in the morning paper that his father’s summer house in the south of France had been raided overnight, and several highly illegal Dark objects had been collected. He wondered if Harry had been there, walking through the house he’d spent every summer in, breathing the same air he had breathed, touching the same wood and stone. Then he wondered what the hell he was thinking, and started making another pain relief potion. 

***

Harry sat beside Ron and Hermione in the Ministry bar, opposite the Baptiste, McKinnon and Dawlish. They were celebrating a successful raid on Lucius Malfoy’s house in France, although none of them had actually been there – like McKinnon said, it was just an excuse to have a good time. Harry had, against his better judgement, written a quick note to Draco asking he wanted to join them – he was sure he’d say no, but it had been Draco’s tip that had set this all in motion, and he wanted him to be there to join in the celebrations. Draco hadn’t replied, and Harry had quickly drunk two shots of something disgusting in retaliation. 

Harry had the distinct feeling that he may have had too much to drink – every time Baptiste’s dark eyes sought out his own, he felt dizzy and short of breath. And Baptiste was looking at him almost constantly, even when Harry wasn’t speaking. 

“I’m going to get some air…” Harry muttered, stumbling away from their table towards the exit. Baptiste was suddenly beside him, friendly hand between the shoulders, leading him out into the cool air of the night. Harry turned to him, opening his mouth, already starting to ask what the hell Baptiste’s problem was. He never got so far as finishing his second word before Baptiste was kissing him, warm lips pressed against Harry’s own, thin hands sliding down Harry’s arms. 

Oh. So this is what it’s meant to feel like, Harry thought, feeling every inch of his skin on fire, lips tingling where Baptiste’s tongue traced. Harry gasped into Baptiste’s mouth, his own hands moving towards his jaw, his shoulder, his hair. In turn, Baptiste placed a hand against Harry’s waist, a single finger brushing against his heated skin, his other hand trailing down his spine. This felt like pure instinct, like he could hardly help where his hands went, what his mouth did against Baptiste’s – this kiss was so unlike any kiss he’d ever shared with Ginny that he could hardly believe the two things shared the same name. 

And then the haze was shattered by a gasp from behind them, and Harry pulled away to see Draco’s shocked, no, horrified, face peering out of the dark at them. Heart in his throat, Harry pushed Baptiste off of him, taking a step towards Draco. 

“Malfoy! I didn’t think you were coming…” He said lamely, feeling embarrassed, as though he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Draco’s face shifted from his frozen horror to fury as he stepped into the light. 

“So you invited me just to make fun of me? Thought I was too much of a coward to come out in public, is that it?” His voice was like ice, sharp and shrill, and it sliced through Harry’s haze of bliss, straight to his stomach. Baptiste muttered something and vanished inside, looking awkward but not regretful. 

“No, that’s not it! You didn’t reply to my letter, so…” Harry trailed off, not sure what to say in the face of Draco’s cold fury, confused and upset.

“Well, looks like I wasn’t welcome anyway,” Draco spat, “since you’re busy being mouth to mouth with some frog in broad daylight!”

“Don’t talk about him that way!” Harry shouted, suddenly angry at Draco’s dismissive tone. “And what do you care who I kiss, anyway?” 

“I don’t care! I couldn’t care less!” Draco shouted back, fists clenching tightly by his sides. 

“Then what’s got your panties in a twist, Malfoy? Are you homophobic as well as racist? Still a nasty little bigot after all?” Harry taunted, feeling unreasonably angry, blood boiling, feeling like he might throw up. 

Malfoy’s face twisted in a horrible combination of hurt, rage and hatred and Harry shied back, frantically reaching to his back pocket for his wand. Grabbing it too late, Malfoy’s fist smashed into his cheek, knocking his head back into the wall. With a shout of rage, Harry punched him back, and then they were on the floor in a flurry of clenched fists and kicking legs, shouting and yelling. 

Harry was vaguely aware of being pulled off of Malfoy by a pair of strong hands, and he heard Hermione crying out to Ron, begging him to stay put. He saw Malfoy being dragged away by Dawlish, still screaming and shouting obscenities at Harry. He wriggled out of Dawlish’s hands and swore one final time at Harry before apparating away. Harry fell limply to the floor, aching all over. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and was shocked to see blood smeared across his skin. 

He could hear Ron and Hermione asking him questions, talking loudly at the same time, talking trash about Malfoy. Over their heads he could see Baptiste, waiting patiently by the side, and Harry realised he’d gone to get Hermione and Ron when Malfoy had appeared. Harry suddenly felt like crying – the tears were welling up inside him, draining him of the mad anger that had consumed him. Shrugging off the many hands laid on him, he leapt to his feet with a groan, limping to the apparition point. Ron grabbed his shoulder and Harry felt something snap inside of him. 

“Fuck off, Ron! Leave me the fuck alone for once, would you?” He saw Ron’s face fall, saw Hermione gasp behind him, and then he apparated into the dark of Grimmauld Place only to fall apart and cry.


	13. How can you hide from what never goes away?

Harry hid in his room for hours and hours, alternating between wanting to cry and wanting to put his fist through a wall. Kissing Baptiste had changed everything – he’d just come to terms with not loving Ginny, and now he had to find out that maybe he’d never love any girl? It made him furiously miserable to think that everything he’d thought about himself might not be true. And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about the warmth of Baptiste’s lips, the strength of his hands as they gripped Harry’s shoulders. It was all very confusing and upsetting.

And on top of that, he’d had that awful fight with Malfoy. It had been a long time since he’d felt so much hatred from Malfoy, and longer still since he’d felt that kind of anger towards Malfoy. He felt bereft, knowing he couldn’t write out his feelings and send them on the wings of an owl towards somebody he’d rapidly been coming to think of as a friend. He’d never felt so lonely, feeling unable to talk to Ron or Hermione about his fight with Malfoy, knowing they’d hate Malfoy even more, knowing he didn’t want them to.  
His body ached, bruises blooming on his cheeks and chest, turning his skin a mottled purple-green, and he was pretty sure his nose was broken. It hurt like hell, but he couldn’t bear to get up and fix it. 

He ignored Hermione’s wheedling, begging and shouting through the door for the whole first day – Ron, still angry at him, refused to even walk past his door. If he hadn’t been so distraught and confused, Harry might have laughed at Ron’s stubbornness. As it was, he lay in the dark on his bed, motionless, silent. 

It was only when almost two days had passed with no sign of Harry that even Ron began to get concerned – both Ron and Hermione tried to spell his door open, but Harry’s spell proved unbeatable, at least for now. He swore through the door at them occasionally, hoping desperately they’d leave him alone. It was only when Hermione started to cry that he felt something twist inside him, and he threw open the door, glaring at her and Ron, who were both sat on the floor outside the door. 

“Leave me alone! I’m fine, just piss off, will you?” He snapped, glaring down at them. 

“Is this because of Ginny, mate? Because I’m sure she’d take you back if you asked.” Ron asked, baffled but trying his best to understand. Hermione elbowed him in the side.

“Look, Harry, we aren’t asking you to tell us what’s going on. We’d just feel a lot better if you came downstairs and had something to eat, and maybe took a shower.” Hermione’s voice was soft and it soothed the burning mess inside him like a balm. She frowned as she observed the bruises and broken nose “And if you let me fix your nose.” She added. 

Harry sighed and stepped out of the dark into the light of the corridor, closing his bedroom door behind him. He followed his friends down the stairs to the kitchen and slumped at the table, letting Hermione fix his nose and bruises while Ron cooked something delicious on the stove. Their kindness in the wake of his anger and cruelty brought him to his knees, and he started to cry. After a long wait, his tears started to dry and he began to eat. He was trying to find a way to tell them about Baptiste, and his uncomfortable new revelation. 

Refusing to look either of them in the eye, he began to speak in a quiet, firm voice. 

“When I broke up with Ginny, I didn’t realise why I needed to. I love her, but I love her like I love you two – because she’s always stood by me, and supported me, and loved me. But at the bar, I went outside with Baptiste and…” his voice cracked, and Hermione reached out, put her hand on top of his. His resolve strengthened, and he carried. 

“I went outside with Baptiste, and we kissed. I didn’t even know I could feel like that…like I was on fire, like I was finally alive. I think I finally get why I didn’t love Ginny the way she loved me.” 

There was a long silence. He could feel Hermione itching to get out her books, to find words of comfort to give him, and he could see Ron sat awkwardly beside her. He wanted to push them away, run back to his room, but he forced himself to stay put – he owed them this moment of thought before he demanded a response. 

“So, you’re gay?” Ron blurted out, and Hermione once again elbowed him in the ribs. He winced, but Harry looked up for the first time since he’d started eating. 

“Yeah, I think so. Is that alright?”

“Of course it is, Harry! All we want is for you to be happy, and if that’s with a man, then it’s with a man. It’s not our place to judge, and we wouldn’t want to – we love you no matter what, Harry.” 

“Yeah, mate, what she said.” 

There was another long silence. 

“So are you going to be with Baptiste, Harry? He seems nice enough, don’t you think, Ron?” 

“Yeah, he’s great, mate, great choice!” 

“I’m not sure what I want. I guess I’ll just have to see.” 

He said nothing about Malfoy, and he knew neither of his friends would bring him up for fear of enraging Harry again. He knew they didn’t understand where his fight with Malfoy had come from, and why it had been such a big deal, but they respected him enough not to ask. He was glad. He didn’t know how to explain how upset he was that he had fought with Malfoy. He remained miserable for several days, and although they knew it was about Malfoy, they didn't ask. 

***

Draco sat at the furthest seat from Potter and his friends as they brainstormed where the big sacrifice might to take place. Potter’s voice was quiet, but it still grated on Draco’s nerves, distracting him from his research every time he spoke. After perhaps an hour of Potter and his friends’ incessant talking, he slammed his book shut. 

“Can you keep your mouth shut, Potter? Your donkey bray of a laugh is distracting me.” He snapped, acid-voiced, refusing to look him in the eye. 

“Go to hell, Malfoy.” Potter replied heatedly. For a moment there was a tense silence, and then Potter turned back to his friends. 

Draco took great pleasure in seeing Potter shift uncomfortably in his seat, and he saw huge mottled bruises slip in and out of view from under his t-shirt sleeves. He’d cried after the fight that night, when Potter had called him a "nasty little bigot”, which Draco didn’t think he’d ever forgive him for. He’d just been so shocked seeing Potter snogging that strange French man up against a wall, it had sent lightning through his whole body, and it had blurred his mind – he still couldn’t remember who threw the first punch. 

Potter got up to visit the book shelves again, and on his way back Draco stuck out his foot, sending Potter tumbling to the ground with a thump, books spreading everywhere.  
Potter swore at him violently, but didn’t react. Draco couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t react to anything he did. Potter settled back into his seat, sending a bitter look Draco’s way before returning his attention to Granger and Weasley. 

“Oh my god….” Granger cried out suddenly, catching his attention. He looked up to see Granger brandishing that morning’s newspaper. He rolled his eyes and turned back to his book, only to hear Potter and Weasley swear under their breaths. 

“What is it, Weasel?” Draco snapped angrily. 

“Your father’s going to murder a bunch of muggleborns is what, Malfoy.” Potter snapped back, throwing the newspaper at him as Granger started to scrawl on a piece of parchment. 

Draco scanned the front page, confused, until he froze as he saw what they must be talking about – an article inviting all and any muggleborns to a meeting about ways to improve the lives of muggleborns in the post-war culture. He looked at the location of the meeting and saw the address – the country home of Valentina Nott, although he doubted the Ministry knew of its existence. 

“Fuck, you’re right.” Draco swore and looked to Granger for directions. He could hardly breathe – his father was going to murder countless people, and there was nothing he could do about it. It was going to be a fucking bloodbath. 

The next half an hour passed in a horrible blur as Potter and his friends rounded up any Aurors they could find (Draco snarled to see the horrible French man standing terribly close to Potter during the briefing) and started to apparate as close as they could get to the building. Everybody was in a panic – they’d had no time to prepare, to scout, they could only get there as soon as possible and hope they got there in time. 

***

Harry came out of his apparition so quickly he fell into Baptiste’s back, but there was no time to blush or be embarrassed – he could hear screaming in the distance, and his heart stopped. They ran, as fast as they could, but Harry could feel it in the air – they were too late – the air reeked of death. 

They flung open the doors to the great hall, Ron and Hermione on his right, Baptiste and McKinnon on his left, the remaining few Aurors behind them. Three cloaked Death Eaters vanished out a back door as two came soaring at the Aurors, twirling their wands, unleashing huge green streams of smoke that suffocated and strangled anyone they touched. The smoke obscured their vision, but Harry could still see bodies strewn across the floor, oceans of blood seeping across the stone. Hermione was muttering under her breath, and Harry’s eyes suddenly stung for a second. He swore, before realising that she’d cast some sort of spell to help them see through the smoke. 

Harry threw himself forward, followed by Ron and Hermione as they took on the Death Eater on the right. He saw, just for a moment, Baptiste, McKinnon and Hopkins taking on the one on the left before the smoke enveloped them. He turned his attention back to their Death Eater and started hurling curses and jinxes at him. He had no way of proving it, but he had a sinking suspicion it was Lucius Malfoy under that hood, and he wanted to kill him. Even three against one, it was a losing fight – Ron quickly got hit by a nasty curse that cut his arms to ribbons, and Hermione got hit by a jinx that blinded her (temporarily, Harry prayed), and then it was just him against Malfoy senior. He was bleeding from a deep wound on his leg, and the blood was making the floor slippery. A blur of a curse hit him and froze him, and then he hit the floor, screaming in agony – he recognized the feeling of the crucio curse. 

And then there was a strange, strangled shriek from behind him, and Draco Malfoy appeared, brandishing his wand. Harry’s whole body lit up with relief, and something else he couldn’t identify. He was throwing curses darker than any Harry would ever dare to attempt, and he was crying. Harry couldn’t hear the words Draco was shouting at the cloaked Death Eater, but it was enough for him to hesitate for a moment, confirming his suspicion that it was Lucius Malfoy. Harry couldn’t move, couldn’t even blink, his whole body was seizing up. He could only watch as Draco hit his father with a nasty curse that blew the cloak off, revealing his face, and then started to burn away the skin on his face. With a final screamed curse at his son, Lucius apparated away, abandoning his partner to Baptiste’s rapid, cruel spells. 

Draco hit the floor with a sickening crunch, and he screamed, high and shrill. Harry could see Draco’s arms bent unnaturally even from where he was, and Draco’s bones still seemed to be breaking. Harry’s heart was in his throat, and he threw up at the sound of Draco’s agonised screams. He grunted and, with great effort, pulled his shaking limbs across the floor towards Draco’s prone body. He bent over Draco, crying and whispering his name. Draco’s eyes met his for a single second before he blacked out, and Harry started to yell for help, pressing an aching, bloodied hand against his pale cheek. Harry realised he was crying when Hermione, eyesight freshly returned by the medics, pulled him away, trying to still him to find and fix his injuries. 

“No, no, not me, check Malfoy! He’s going to die!” Harry sobbed, pointing towards Draco’s malformed body. She stared at him in surprise for a moment, before handing Harry over to a medic and kneeling down next to Draco, quickly joined by a medic. The last thing Harry saw before he passed out was Draco’s motionless face. 

***

Harry woke up in a hospital bed. The curtains were closed, and there were countless cards on the table beside him, along with a neatly folded newspaper and an after-action report. His head ached, and he was unbearably dizzy, but he scanned the report, seeing numbers that made him feel sick – thirty five injured muggleborns, and thirteen dead. No dead Aurors, although several were severaly injured, including Harry and Ron, and they’d managed to capture a Death Eater, although his identity was still a mystery. But nothing told Harry what he wanted to know – what had happened to Draco Malfoy? 

He climbed out of bed, grimacing as his injured leg hit the floor, but he persevered, only to come face to face with a pale, sweaty Draco in the bed next to his. Harry noted that there were no cards on his table, and he felt a pang of sorrow. Draco’s eyes were open, and he was watching Harry. Harry sat back down on his bed. 

“You saved my life.” He said to Draco after a long silence. 

“And you saved mine. Again.” Draco replied, voice flat. 

“Well, it’s what I do.” Harry joked awkwardly, wishing he could think of something clever to say. Draco said nothing. 

“I thought you were dead…” Harry said lamely, desperately wanting Draco to say something, anything at all. 

“Why did you save me?” Draco asked angrily in his tired, raspy voice and Harry felt something stir deep in his chest. 

Because I love you, he realised, and froze. It was a horrible realisation, and yet, it made sense – they’d spent weeks writing letters to each other, letters in which Harry had been more honest than he’d ever been before in his life. And they’d spent hours sat in the library together, sometimes, but not always, accompanied by Hermione. And with his recent realisation that he preferred men, his all-consuming obsession with Draco Malfoy came into a different light. But he could not say this to Draco, and so instead he lied. 

“Because you’re my friend.” He said simply, feeling the bitter taste of the lie on his tongue. Draco scowled at him and closed his eyes, apparently determined to sleep until Harry had left. Harry sighed and lay back in his bed, closing his eyes as sleep came to claim him, too.


	14. We kissed and I was glad

Baptiste had come to visit him in hospital before he’d left for France. It had been a very kind thing to do, and Harry had been grateful for the company, and even more grateful for the searing kiss Baptiste had given him before leaving, but the feeling he’d had during that first kiss with him had never returned. Harry’s understanding of his sexuality had been put into question by his encounter with Baptiste, but he could only hope that it would be put into practice with Draco Malfoy. 

He knew it was a blind hope, destined to be fruitless, but he couldn’t help himself – he spent all day hoping Draco would talk to him, and all night dreaming of him. He felt bad that he had visitors every day during his two week stint in hospital, and yet Draco never had a single one, despite being in a far worse medical state. Harry had recovered quickly enough, perhaps several days in, but he had wanted to stay near Draco, and so he’d feigned pain during his daily checks. Even if the doctors didn’t believe him, they weren’t going to argue with Harry Potter. 

Besides, even if he was feeling physically better, he felt wrecked emotionally. Even before this he’d had nightmares of Nagini and Voldemort and what it felt like to actually die, but this was almost worse – he kept hearing Hermione’s hollow screams as she realised she was blind, and he kept seeing Ron’s mangled arms as he fell to the floor wailing. He’d never been as afraid as the moment he realised he was standing alone against Lucius Malfoy – he’d chosen to go into the Forbidden Forrest alone that night, but it hadn’t been his choice to watch Hermione and Ron and Draco almost die in front of him. Worst of all, though, were the nightmares where he didn’t get there in time, where he arrived only to see every single muggleborn lying dead on the floor. 

Ron and Hermione came to visit him each day, each eager to update him on their continued wedding planning, the date of which was set for two weeks away. Ron had proudly asked him to be best man, which had delighted him, and had also asked Harry to help him with a top secret project, some of which the details he was still blurry on. Hermione had admitted that Ginny was going to be her Maid of Honour, but that Ginny was OK with it, so Harry should be too. Apparently, Ginny had news, but she would tell him herself when she saw him at the wedding. He vaguely wondered if she’d thought up a new jinx just for him, but he didn’t think Hermione would allow that, even if Ron might find it funny.

No-one who visited him seemed very keen to discuss the tragedy that had occurred, but Harry gleaned that two more muggleborns had died in hospital, although the others were recovering. The Death Eater that had been taken into custody was a French believer, which explained the visit to France. Nothing had been seen of Lucius or the three other Death Eaters who had been present. It was generally believed that the three had been the Carrow twins and Valentina Nott, but the more worrying concern was the speed at which the Death Eaters had escaped – it implied that they’d had a warning of some sort, which suggested the presence of a traitor in the Auror ranks. If it hadn’t been for Draco’s grievous injuries at the hands of his father, Harry knew he would have been the top choice, but no-one could believe even a Death Eater would do that to a loyal son. And besides, even Ron had to admit that Malfoy had been in their sights all morning, right up until they had arrived on the scene. 

***

Draco thought briefly about smothering Potter with a pillow as he woke up sobbing for the fourth night in a row. Draco knew something about nightmares – he had, after all, lived, in terror, with Voldemort for months, watching him torture and murder people without a second thought. It was only remembering his only dreams, watching Dumbledore fall off the tower, reliving the crucio curse over and over again, that he felt any pity for Potter at all. 

Still, Draco thought, you’d think he’d at least ask Granger for some Sleep-easy draught, or something stronger. Draco brewed himself several potions regularly – the Draught of Peace for his anxiety, calming draughts to reduce nightmares, and various pain relief potions. These last few were the most complicated – he had carefully tailored each one to a specific pain – one for the residual after effects of Voldemort’s crucio curses and one to ease the pain of his Dark Mark, which had been burning since the moment of Voldemort’s death. He often wondered if any other Death Eaters felt that same awful pain, or if it was his personal punishment, sort of like karma. He never dared to ask his mother, knowing how disappointed and afraid she had been when he’d taken it against her advice. 

Hours later, Draco was half asleep against his propped up pillows, enjoying the effects of a strong hospital-issued pain relief potion, when he saw Potter stirring behind his curtains. There was a loud rustling, and Draco realised he was packing up his cards and files – he must finally be leaving. 

Perhaps now I’ll get some peace and quiet, Draco thought as Potter headed towards the door, only to pause and walk hesitantly towards Draco’s bed. There was something strange lurking under his pleasantly arranged facial expression. 

Potter held out his hand for Draco to shake. Draco started, analysis Potter’s face for signs of a prank, or worse, but there was nothing but a strangely bland half-smile. Draco slowly held out his hand towards Potter. 

“Alright, Malfoy, what do you say – friends?” Potter’s voice was rough, and his hands were warm. Draco could feel his pulse beating erratically in his wrist just for a moment before he pulled his hand back towards his chest. Draco nodded, pulling his own hand back, and the full force of Potter’s smile shone out at him. It was a smile he’d seen only directed at the Weasley’s and Granger previously, and it shocked Draco a little. As Potter, or rather, Harry, left the room, Draco couldn’t help but wonder how often Harry thought about that moment all those years ago when Draco had offered his friendship, only to be rejected. He hoped in vain that it was at least half as often as he himself did. 

****

“Ron, mate, I know it’s your wedding, I’m just saying, we know Malfoy isn’t a Death Eater anymore, and he technically is our colleague now, so wouldn’t it be rude not to invite him?” Harry tried to keep his voice calm, hoping Ron would follow his lead. Ron’s face was flushed red and his fists were clenched, but he wasn’t yelling – yet. 

“You know, Ron, it might be a good idea – if we invite him, it might help the world as a whole see him as reformed.” Hermione added. Thank god for Hermione, Harry thought, grateful he had begged Hermione to back him up with this before asking Ron. Hermione had been unwilling, but he had pointed out that Draco had saved his life only two weeks ago, and that demanded some level of respect and gratitude. 

“I don’t care if the world sees him as reformed! He’s a prick and it’ll ruin our wedding, ‘Mione! I can’t believe you’re agreeing with Harry on this.” Ron was angry, but Hermione’s calming smile and soft voice seemed to be keeping him tame. 

“I doubt he’ll even come, Ron, it’s just a courtesy. Besides, you won’t even have to speak to him if he does turn up – you’ll be entirely too busy getting married to me.” It was a low blow and they all knew it, but it worked. After a pause to consider, Ron shrugged at Harry and returned to his files. Harry grinned widely at Hermione, who frowned at his glee, and vanished upstairs to his room to write a letter, leaving Ron and Hermione in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place to write their vows.

Dear Draco, 

Please don’t feel any pressure to say yes to this, but Ron and Hermione are offering you an invitation to their wedding tomorrow. It’s at 3oclock at the Burrow. Ron’s promised to be civil, or, if he can’t manage that, to totally ignore you, and Hermione thinks it’ll be a good way to show the world you’ve reformed. I don’t really care about all that – I just think it would be nice if you were there. 

In other news, we’re still trying to work out who the mole is. It’s very upsetting to think that someone in the Ministry, and in particular the Auror department, could be a traitor, but I guess it shouldn’t shock me anymore – it’s happened before. 

I’m still not sleeping well. The nightmares are getting worse, I think. I can’t tell Ron or Hermione – I don’t want to ruin their weekend.

Hopefully I’ll see you tomorrow, but don’t worry if not. 

Harry

***

Ron stood at the end of the aisle, Harry by his side, his family in the front row, and thought his heart might burst from happiness. His mum was sobbing, wiping her eyes with a huge hankie every five seconds. George and Charlie were mimicking her, laughing quietly, but Ron could see how emotional even they were. His heart was so full as he stood under the tent, waiting to see Hermione walk down the aisle, and he couldn’t wait to give Hermione her wedding present. He knew traditionally the groom didn’t give the bride a gift, but he had the perfect gift and he couldn’t imagine anything other. 

***

Hermione started to walk down the aisle, and Ginny, walking beside her, bewitched the lanterns to play the wedding march. Everything was perfect – the tent was beautifully lit with soft pink lanterns and decorated with red and white rose petals. Her dress was silk, and her hair was done up with pearls, a wedding gift from Harry. She only wished her parents could have been there too, but although she’d tried for months, she hadn’t been able to find them. But she refused to let that upset her as she walked towards Ron, who, to her amusement, had started to cry at the sight of her. 

“Told you he’d cry, the big baby.” Ginny whispered in her ear, sounding delighted. “George owes me ten Galleons now!” 

Hermione laughed, and Harry winked at her across the room, smiling brightly. She saw his eyes roving around the tent, and realised he didn’t want to accidently catch Ginny’s eye.

“Does anyone have any reason why this marriage ceremony may not commence?” The priest asked. 

“Yeah, I do!” Ron chimed, to the loud gasps of everybody present.

“No, wait, I don’t mean it like that!” He cried, grabbing Hermione’s hands, and she smiled at him, confused. “I have a present for you, Hermione. Turn around.” 

Hermione turned around and burst into tears herself – sat in the front row, next to Mr and Mrs Weasley, were her parents, smiling and waving at her as though she had never sent them off to Australia. She turned to look at Ron, and saw him and Harry grinning at each other, and realised what all his furtive planning with Harry had been. Hermione wiped away her tears, glad Ginny had forced her to cast a protective spell over her make up – she must have been in on it too, she realised. 

***

The rest of the wedding went without a hitch – the ceremony was beautiful – although Harry would never admit it to anyone, both Ron and Hermione’s vows had made him tear up, and his dance with Ginny, as Best Man and Maid of Honour, had been surprisingly nice. She’d promised him a talk once the first dances were done, and he’d been grateful.

The talk had been a little awkward – he’d gone first, and he’d told her he was gay. It had been uncomfortable, but she’d given him a big hug and told him she still loved him, but that that love had changed, and now she saw him as a brother, or a best friend. He’d been shocked when she told him why she’d changed her mind – she had begun a romantic relationship with Luna. It had come as a huge surprise to both of them, Ginny said, and it was still very new, but that she couldn’t be happier, and so Harry was happy for them. 

It was now early evening, and Harry was stood at the bar, drinking his second glass of champagne, watching Luna twirl Ginny around the dance floor in a wild pattern, both girls laughing merrily. Harry couldn’t help but be a little disappointed Draco hadn’t come – he understood why he would have felt uncomfortable surrounded by Weasleys and other members of the Order of Phoenix, but Harry had desperately hoped he would come anyway. 

“Not dancing, Potter?” came a voice behind him, and Harry whirled around only to come face to face with Draco Malfoy, dressed very sharply in a fancy black suit. It was much nicer than Harry’s, although he wasn’t surprised. His hair was slicked back in a way that made him look very angular, and Harry had to swallow at how beautiful he looked.

“Haven’t got a partner.” Harry replied, offering him a glass of champagne. Draco took it, looking out onto the dance floor. 

“No-one wanted to deal with your two left feet, I suppose.” He teased, and Harry rolled his eyes, nudging him in the ribs gently. This was the first time they’d seen each other since that moment in hospital, although they had sent many letters, and Harry was glad Draco seemed cheerful and willing to be friends. 

“You’re late, you know. Ceremony was at 3.”

“I was here. I was at the back. I wanted to speak to Weasley and Granger before I spoke to anyone else.”

“Wow. How did that go?” 

“It was…fine, actually. Weasley was very civil, almost pleasant, and Granger was very gracious.”

“That’s a relief. I told them they had to be nice, but I wasn’t sure they’d stick to it.” 

There was a long silence as both men drank their glass of champagne and watched the crowd – Ginny was now dancing with George and Ron, doing a very strange chicken dance, and Hermione was in deep conversation with her parents. Mrs Weasley was still crying, to Harry’s amusement, and Charlie and Mr Weasley were playing with some muggle contraption Mr Granger had shown them. Bill and Fleur were entertaining the younger Weasley cousins with some fun-looking charms, and even Percy was looking cheery, engaging in an animated conversation with some Ministry folk. 

“Are they always like this?” Draco’s voice sounded strange. Harry turned to him, worried by what he meant, only to see Draco looking almost upset. 

“What do you mean?” 

“So…happy. So carefree and loving with each other.” 

“Yeah, they are. It surprised me too, when I first met them. I couldn’t understand how anyone could be so loving.” Harry’s tongue was loosened by his third champagne, which he was halfway through. He flushed, embarrassed at revealing so much. 

There was another silence. Draco reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a small vial of pale blue liquid, handing it to Harry, who looked at him curiously. 

“It’s a calming drought. It helps with the nightmares.” His voice was soft. 

***

Potter stared at Draco for a moment, looking shell-shocked. Draco couldn’t understand the big deal – it was only a potion, after all! Potter turned on his heel and stalked away from him suddenly, and Draco had to almost jog to keep up with him. 

“What is wrong with you?!” He hissed as Potter half vanished into a dark corner. Potter’s hand shot out of the dark and grabbed Draco’s, pulling him towards him. Draco let out a squawk of surprise as he fell face first towards Potter, pulling backwards in embarrassment at being so undignified.

“Shut up, Malfoy.” Potter snapped back, looking uncomfortable. He slipped the vial into his pocket and watched Draco’s face carefully. Draco frowned, confused.

“Is this where you murder me? Am I about to die?” He was half joking, but underneath the humour he was worried – why was Potter acting so strange?

“Why did you give me that?” He demanded, and Draco almost laughed. Is that what this was? 

“It’s not a poison, if that’s what you’re thinking! You mentioned you still weren’t sleeping well, and I thought I could help.”

“Didn’t know you cared, Draco.” There was something dangerous in his voice that reminded Draco of all the moments before they threw punches.

“So what if I do?” He snapped back, confused. Potter loomed towards him out of the shadow, and before Draco could pull back, half reaching for his wand, suddenly they were kissing. 

This kiss was unlike any Draco had ever shared with Pansy or Daphne – Potter’s lips were dry and chapped, and Draco could feel the stubble on his cheeks. His whole body was frozen as Potter kissed him. He couldn’t think of anything except the warmth of Potter’s lips against his own. Tentatively, almost without thinking, Draco twisted his fingers in Potter's hair, his other hand curved around the back of his neck. Potter’s hands had somehow ended up on his waist, which was such a masculine move that it shook him out of the strange haze. He jerked back so suddenly he lost his balance, falling backwards onto his ass. 

“What the fuck, Potter?” He spat, angry and embarrassed, and most horrifyingly of all, aroused. Potter’s face froze, but before he could open his mouth to speak – to apologise, or shout, or worse, Draco forced out an excuse and ran from the tent into the dark of the night.


	15. Some ancient thing that tugs and hurts and pleases

Draco sat in the dark of his flat feeling sick. The whole world was spinning, and he couldn’t stop thinking. Brief memories kept flashing in front of his eyes: Potter calling him Draco in that strange, shiny voice; Potter holding out his hand for Draco to shake; Potter crouched over him, crying and dripping blood onto Draco’s face as everything went black; Granger and Weasley telling Draco that if he was Harry’s friend, then he can’t be as bad as he wanted everyone to believe, and maybe they didn’t mind him; Potter looking stupidly nice in that silly grey suit he’d worn at the wedding; Potter’s warm lips pressed firmly against his own. It made him sick to think that he’d masturbated when he’d returned to his flat, and he’d cried in the shower as he’d finished. Was it possible to hate someone and be attracted to them at the same time? But he wasn’t even sure he hated Potter anymore.

Draco had never really cared about gender when he’d dated – he’d had a strange drunken night with Theo Nott once, although they’d only kissed. But he liked to think he’d draw the line at someone like Potter. 

It didn’t matter, Draco thought – it didn’t matter what he felt during those few moments as they kissed, it didn’t matter if he wanted to do it again or not, it didn’t matter why it had happened, because it wouldn’t happen again. It couldn’t happen again.

***

Harry threw spell after spell at the wall in the training room, trying to replace his embarrassment and sorrow with fury – he was nearing on his third consecutive hour in there, but his spells had yet to weaken. He’d always been powerful but wildly inconsistent in his spell casting during his time at Hogwarts, but the long sleepless nights of spell learning and spell making since the end of the war had totally changed his style – he rarely produced a spell that didn’t hit its mark.

Try as he might to focus on his spell casting, his mind kept slithering back to Draco, and the glorious moment in which they had been kissing each other, before Draco, looking somewhat like he’d been stabbed, had run off. It had been days since the wedding – it was now Thursday, and Harry hadn’t seen or heard from Draco, despite sending at least one letter every day. He had a sneaking suspicion Malfoy was burning them without reading them. 

Finally tired, Harry left the training room to try and find Ron or Hermione, desperate to be distracted. Turning a corner too fast, he skidded directly into someone’s chest. Pulling back with an apology spilling out of his mouth, he came face to face with Draco. Over his shoulder, he saw Shacklebolt walking away. 

“Draco!” Harry exclaimed, surprised. “What are you doing down here?” 

Draco ignored him, turning away and pushing open the door beside them. Harry noticed that it had “Draco Malfoy: Potions and Dark Arts Expert” engraved on it. Harry followed Draco into his new office, trying to catch his attention. Finally, Draco whirled around, a look of pure fury on his face. 

“It’s Malfoy to you, Potter.” He snapped, refusing to catch his eye. 

Harry paused. 

“I thought we were friends now?” 

Draco let out a short, humourless laugh that made Harry shiver. 

“As if I’d be friends with someone like you!” 

“What, someone you kissed?”

“I didn’t kiss you! You assaulted me!” Draco’s voice was shrill. 

“You kissed me back and you know it, Draco.” 

“It’s Malfoy! Or better yet, don’t call me anything, and get the hell out of my office!” 

“I’m not going to do that, Draco. I want to talk.” 

“Well, I don’t want to talk to you. You make me sick.”

There was a silence as Harry processed.

“You really mean that?” 

“Yes, I mean it! Get out!” Draco shouted, finally raising his voice. 

Harry was frozen to the spot, unable to move – he’d really thought that the kiss had meant something, even if Draco had run away afterwards. He knew first-hand how difficult it was to realise something like about yourself, and he’d sympathised. But apparently, that wasn’t what had upset Draco.

Draco let out a shriek and slashed his wand at Harry, propelling him backwards out of his office. The door slammed in Harry’s face, and he promptly burst into tears. 

He was still crying half an hour later when Hermione and Ron found in him in his office, tear stained and almost unintelligible through the snotty sobs. Hermione took one look at Harry and vanished out the door again, seeming to understand, or at least guess, who was responsible for this, leaving her new husband to try and comfort Harry.

***

“Malfoy, you coward, open this door!” Hermione shouted through the locked door of Malfoy’s office. Hearing nothing inside that suggested he was doing as she asked, she swished and flicked her wand and the door swung open. She froze in the doorway – after whatever he’d said to Harry to make him so…whatever he’d been, she’d been expecting him to be smug and gloating, but this wasn’t the case. 

Malfoy was sat on the floor of his office, slumped against his desk, a pile of crumpled papers held in his clenched fists. His face was turned away from the door, and he made no effort to move as Hermione burst through the door. 

“Haven’t you ever learnt any manners, Granger?” Malfoy snapped, but even Hermione could tell it was half-hearted. She continued staring, shocked at her realisation that, despite his unpleasantness and spite, he, too, was a person, a real human being. 

“Cat got your tongue?” He added, but his voice quivered slightly at the end.

“Shut up, Malfoy. I’m not here to yell.” She snapped back. “It’s about Harry.” She added, and noted how his fingers tightened on the papers in his lap. 

“That’s none of your business, Granger.” Malfoy replied, voice strangely spiky, and she wondered if he was going to cry too. 

“In normal circumstances, I’d agree with you. But whatever you said to Harry just now made him cry, and so it very much is my business. I don’t know what is going on with you and Harry, but clearly something is going on, or you wouldn’t both be so bloody miserable all the damn time. Now, I don’t care much if you’re miserable – I don’t work much with you, and I’m only friendly with you because Harry asked nicely, but Harry is my best friend and I do care if he’s miserable. And he’s miserable because of you. For some inexplicable reason, he cares about you – even though you’ve been nothing but spiteful and cruel to him recently, he still cares. And I can only guess that, from your behaviour, you feel the same. So, although I very much don’t like you, I’m telling you now, in no uncertain terms, to go and fix it.” Hermione took a deep breath as she finished talking, waiting for his reaction. Silence. 

“Malfoy, did you hear…” Hermione started speaking, only to be interrupted by a swish and flick of a wand as Malfoy folded all the papers in his lap into sharp paper darts, which hovered above his head, waiting.

“Get out!” Malfoy hissed, and sent the darts shooting at Hermione, who uttered a tiny shriek and ducked out of the door. Just as the door slammed shut behind her, she could have sworn she heard a sob. 

She felt a stinging pain in her cheek, and put her hand up to feel two small darts pricking her skin. Yanking them out with a wince, she unfolded the blood smeared papers. 

The first read:

Draco, 

Your tip about your father’s French house was right. Thank you – I know it can’t have been easy to tell me about it. Some of us are having drinks at the bar tonight to celebrate. I wondered if you might want to come – we couldn’t have done it without you, after all.

Let me know,

Harry

Hermione would have recognised the writing even without the signature at the bottom, and she was shocked by the warmth in Harry’s letter to Malfoy. She saw the date scrawled at the top, and immediately saw that it had been written the day of Harry and Malfoy’s huge fight outside the bar, which had put Harry in the blackest mood she’d ever seen him in. She hadn’t realised Malfoy had been there by invitation – that made it stranger that they’d ended up punching and kicking each other on the floor, although that was how they usually settled things back in school.

She turned to the second letter. 

Draco, 

I forgive you, even if you don’t forgive yourself. I hope you can forgive me. The war was…hard, and things were asked of us that were not fair. Like you, I didn’t have a choice. I think we understand each other, don’t you? I don’t think I’ve ever had that before.

Harry

The date was marked only a week ago, two days before her and Ron’s wedding. This letter was more than warm – it was almost intimate, and Harry sounded more vulnerable than she thought she’d ever seen before. Feeling that this letter was not something she should have seen, and definitely not something she should keep, she careful folded it up and pushed it, along with the first, under the door to Malfoy’s office. 

She stood there for a long while, thinking of how strangely Harry had been acting lately, how miserable he had been, how he had been so private about breaking it off with Ginny, how upset he’d been when coming out, and how passionately he had campaigned for Hermione and Ron to be civil with Malfoy. And as she thought, she heard Malfoy stifling his broken sobs behind the closed door, and she finally saw what had been making them both so miserable for so long. 

***

Ron didn’t need Hermione to tell him what was wrong with Harry. He knew he wasn’t very observant, and was certainly not good with emotional stuff, but this time, he knew what was going on. Which was a good thing, because Hermione had flatly refused to tell him anything (which would have annoyed him in any other situation) after she’d returned.

He’d been searching for Harry at his wedding, worrying vaguely that he and Malfoy might be beating each other up somewhere out of the public eye, only to find them wrapped around each other in a dark corner of the tent. Before Ron had time to shout out something clever like “Oi!” Malfoy had pushed Harry away and sprinted away like he was on fire, leaving Harry to stand alone in the dark before returning to the Burrow, claiming a headache. 

Ron didn’t know how he felt about it all – he didn’t care that Harry was gay, beyond the fact that he apparently had decided Malfoy was the one he wanted to be gay with. Thinking about it, Ron couldn’t really think of a worse person for Harry to like, although that rather seemed like a moot point, given that Ron had just spent forty minutes trying to calm a sobbing Harry, and then another few hours convincing him to get back to the files, looking for a way to identify the traitor. 

But despite Ron’s disapproval, he considered himself a good, loyal friend, and he knew that he would do whatever it took to make Harry happy again, even if it meant talking to Draco bloody Malfoy. Which was why Ron, unwillingly, stormed through the Auror department, heading towards the training rooms, to find Malfoy’s office. He didn’t bother to knock, instead just jabbing his wand at the door, which flew open with a bang. 

“Malfoy, you git!” He shouted, preparing to give the piece of shit a long lecture and perhaps a punch or two (after all, he could help Harry and help himself, couldn’t he?). But Malfoy wasn’t in there.

Spineless cowardly prick, Ron thought, looking around at Malfoy’s horribly messy office – papers strewn all over the floor (Hermione would lose her shit over this, he thought), and a chair turned on its side. There was a crack in the wall, like it had been punched maybe. Slovenly git, Ron thought, and strode out, vowing to find and berate Malfoy another time.

***

But there wouldn’t be another time, it appeared to Harry and Ron and Hermione, each of whom made several trips to Malfoy’s office secretly, hoping to find him in his office. For five long days there was no sign of Malfoy – Harry had been first despondent, then angry, and then, finally, resigned. He couldn’t help but think of Malfoy, but he knew that whatever had happened between them was over, and he resolved to move on past it. 

Harry devoted his every waking moment to trawling through Ministry personnel files, looking at their education, their work history, even their associates and friends. The three had decided to start at the bottom, with the paper pushers, assistants and secretaries, figuring they’d be the most likely to want to betray the Ministry, and also the most likely to get away with it. But they found nothing, except evidence of a few extramarital affairs, which Hermione scoffed at, and Ron seemed both amused and horrified by – Harry suspected that if Ron hadn’t been newly married he may have found it much funnier. And so they moved up the hierarchy, looking only people who’d joined the Ministry after the war, in any department, thinking that perhaps someone had joined the Ministry with the purpose of betraying it. But that, too, resulted in nothing, and the three had to admit what they had known all along – someone had been turned during the war.

“Well, I think – sorry, Ron – that it’s most likely to be somebody pure-blooded. So we should rule out anybody half-blood or muggleborn that worked here during the war, and most likely before it too.” Hermione’s voice was business-like, but she was clearly worried. 

“What about Snape, though? He wasn’t pureblood.” Ron added. 

“You’re right. We can’t rule out anyone, I suppose. Goodness, this is hard.” 

“We can split up the groups – I’ll take purebloods, Ron will take half-bloods and Hermione, you’re still working in the law department at the moment so you can take the smallest group, muggleborns.” 

Hermione frowned and rustled some papers aimlessly, and Harry knew she was uncomfortable with the tiny number of muggleborns working in the Ministry after Voldemort’s purge. He felt miserable over it too, but he was comforted by the fact that Arthur and Kinglsey would never be biased. 

***

Draco’s head ached as he slowly woke, the side of his face feeling bruised and sticky. His eyelids were caught together, and he wiped stiff fingers across his eyelids, opening his eyes to see blood stained palms. He couldn’t feel anything except a horrible numbness in his legs, and he thought they might be cursed. He could barely see in the darkness of the cold stone room. His heart froze to ice. He tried to remember back before this moment – arguing with Potter, arguing with Granger, and then…a fight? Someone came in, he couldn’t remember who, and they overpowered him somehow? 

Draco didn’t know how long he’d been sat, crumpled against the wall, waiting for he didn’t know what, but he could guess. And sure enough, the stone wall crumbled in a corner and in walked a tall menacing figure. His face was unrecognisable – twisted and burnt to the bone in some places, in others, the skin was sagging, but Draco recognised his own handiwork, and he grimaced as he faced his father. 

“You are going to create the potion we need, in time for the full moon next week. We have procured all the ingredients and charm work you will need. Any mistakes and you will find yourself missing a limb. A second mistake will result in your death.” His father’s voice was crackly (with damage to his throat, Draco knew) but it was colder than he’d ever heard it. His father didn’t meet his eyes, instead staring about a foot above him. He turned to leave, shooting his parting words over his shoulder.

“Oh, and Draco – if you try to trick me in any way, I will find and kill Narcissa.” 

Draco threw up all over himself, still unable to move. He didn’t doubt his father’s willingness to do as he promised – he’d never loved his wife, instead tolerating her, feeling only annoyance and perhaps fondness as a result of the son she’d borne for him. But that fondness had been replaced with a fiery hatred when he’d found out she’d saved Potter’s life in the forest. It would be no hardship for him to kill his wife as a way to motivate or punish his son. 

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of several figures clothed in dark robes, but unhooded. He recognised the Carrow twins, who had twisted Hogwarts into such a terrible place, and behind them stood a vaguely familiar middle-aged man with dark, cold eyes and a nasty sneer on his face. Draco desperately tried to remember his name as the three Death Eaters carelessly dropped two cauldrons on the floor, each filled with a multitude of ingredients and slips of parchment with Lucius’ spidery handwriting on them. 

Draco recognised the dragon liver and the unicorn blood, and supposed the vials of a black, tarry substance must be the Acromantula venom. The Death Eaters turned to leave, and the sneering man threw a snide parting comment at him, and Draco suddenly knew his name – Graves.


	16. People like to think war means something

Draco wiped the sweat off his brow, carefully twirling his wand in an anticlockwise motion above one cauldron while he dripped Acromantula venom into the sizzling, toxic green contents of the other cauldron. It had been perhaps four or five days since he’d been taken from the Ministry by Graves. Time passed slowly in this little cell of his, but the Auror Graves had been by to taunt him four times, and Draco guessed he was coming by at the end of his shift on his way to see his father. 

As Draco chopped and sliced and boiled ingredients, he couldn’t help but wonder if anyone had noticed he was missing yet. He had argued with Potter and Granger the day he’d been kidnapped, had burned his bridges with them both, and he was afraid they wouldn’t forgive him, let alone look for him. 

As he used his wand to mix the unicorn blood with five bat wings and a small amount of fluxweed on a tray, staring blankly into the second cauldron, he remembered a spell Potter had come across weeks ago, during their research. Potter had been fascinated, quickly copying it out, but he’d left the original on the table and Draco, curious to see what had inspired him, had read it through. If he could remember correctly, it was a messenger spell of sorts, which allowed the mind to leave the body and travel, appearing in a guise similar to that of a ghost. Draco ran through the ingredients in his head, and saw that he’d need only two more to carry out the spell, and an additional spell. 

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of his father. This was the first time Lucius had visited his cell since his initial visit, and Draco felt sick. His thoughts were racing. 

“We have three days left. I expect your potion to be done by my next visit.” Lucius turned to leave, halted only by Draco’s quick cry. 

“Wait!” He paused, fearfully thinking of his mother, and then of the braveness of Potter, and then of the damage Lucius hoped to carry out with Draco’s work, and he spoke, forcing out a cool, even tone. 

“This won’t be done by then. The rest of the potion work takes six days, and it’ll take a day to mesh the potions with the charms.” His voice was calm despite the sweat dripping down the back of his neck and the pounding of his heart in his ears. Lucius didn’t say anything, staring him down with those cold, pale eyes. Draco took it as an invitation to keep speaking. 

“I’ll need another cauldron and several more ingredients to speed up the potion work. I’ll need knotgrass and shredded Boomslang skin, which acts as catalysts. I’ll also need more fluxweed and bat wings – the spell is more potent if they’re doubled.” 

There was a silence. Lucius glared at his son. Then he nodded once and strode out of the cell, the stone wall reforming behind him. Draco breathed a silent sigh of relief and returned to the spell at hand. 

***

Meanwhile, in a warm Ministry room, Harry finally looked up from his papers and files and spoke. 

“Guys, I think I found something.” His voice was indecipherable, and his face was set in stone. He held out a thick file to Ron and Hermione. Hermione took it, scanning it quickly. Her face paled, and then flushed in anger as she passed the file to Ron. 

“That bastard!” She swore. 

“I’m going to kill him, I swear I will.” Ron vowed, throwing down the file onto the table, where they all stared at the moving photo of Graves, smirking and sneering. 

Harry quickly detailed his file to Ron and Hermione – several infractions during his time as a junior Auror, including one reported incident where he’d injured a muggle during a mission, although it had never been proven. On top of that, he’d been at school, in Ravenclaw, during the same seven years as Lucius Malfoy, both of whom had been Prefects during their fifth year. 

“At least this explains why he hates us.” Harry said, disbelief and horror written across his face. 

“What the FUCK? Malfoy?!” Ron cried out, staring behind Harry’s head. Harry twisted to see what he and Hermione were staring at in shock and fear. 

In the corner of the room slumped a silvery shape with Malfoy’s face. Harry’s heart leapt into his throat, thinking it was a ghost, before he saw the shadowy shapes of cauldrons behind him, and Harry realised Malfoy was projecting his mind out of his body. 

“What’s wrong?” He knelt in front of the shape, peering into his face, feeling vaguely like he had when he’d spoken to Sirius in the fire of Gryffindor tower. 

“Help me….” His voice was barely a whisper. “Find me…Please…” 

“Malfoy, what’s happened?” Hermione crouched down beside Harry, concerned by his begging. 

“Warn my mother…and come prepared…”

The figure vanished and Harry swore. He stood up and turned around to see Hermione pulling out her wand to cast a simple locator spell. They waited with baited breath as the wand spun on her palm, and then slowed to a stop without the customary light at the wand tip. 

The three began to speak rapidly over each other – chaotic though it seemed, it was something they’d learnt to do during their time on the run. Harry was trying to get Hermione to cast the spell again, frantic, and Hermione was, just as frantically, telling him the spell was blocked and wouldn’t work a second or third time either. Only Ron was calm, perhaps because of his dislike for Malfoy. 

“Shut up, you two! Look, he’s probably been kidnapped by Death Eaters to do their spell – he’s the best at potions, after all. And now we know Graves is working with them, we can guess he took Malfoy.” 

The other two fell silent, recognising that Ron was right. Ron turned to the table and hastily swiped off the papers with an arm, using the other to carefully trace the outline of Britain on the table in black shimmery lines with his wand, talking calmly all the while. 

“If a simple locator spell won’t work, we’ll have to use something more complicated. I learnt this spell after I left you last year. It didn’t work, but I doubt Lucius sodding Malfoy is better at protective spells and shields than Hermione is, so it should work. I want you to both think of Malfoy while I cast the spell.” 

Harry and Hermione, slightly gobsmacked, nodded and closed their eyes. Harry pictured Malfoy as he had been at the wedding – half-smile on his stupid pale face, long fingers clasping the stem of a champagne flute, looking out longingly at Harry’s family and friends. His heart hurt. There was a strange high pitched humming in his ears, and then Ron let out a small, proud sound. Harry and Hermione opened their eyes to see a tiny, golden glowing dot in the depths of Wales. 

“Thank God! Thank you, Ron!” 

The three accioed their official robes and hurriedly put them on, running through lists of offensive spells and charms as they changed. Hermione charmed the three of them with strong protective shields and several other defensive spells, and then Harry sent a Patronus to Hopkins, praying she’d come.

Hopkins showed up with McKinnon and Dawlish in tow less than five minutes later, all of whom had heard Harry’s confusing, garbled message about Malfoy and Graves and Death Eaters. Ron quickly explained the whole situation to them as Hermione rooted around in her bag for anything they might need. Harry, still and pale beside them, blurted out “It’s not enough. We’re not enough.” 

Hermione paused with her head in her bag, and then withdrew slowly, brandishing the D.A gold coins they’d used at Hogwarts. No-one wanted to do it, but they all knew they couldn’t trust anyone else in the Auror department. McKinnon and Dawlish were safe – they’d both lost relatives in Malfoy Manor over the summer, and of course Hopkins was trusted. Hopkins suggested Savage, and quickly sent for her after it was agreed she could be trusted as a muggleborn. They counted numbers, again and again – the seven of them, against Lucius, the Carrow twins, Valentina, Graves and any other followers who may have joined them. And although no-one wanted to say it, Harry knew they were thinking if Malfoy could be trusted. Harry hoped he wasn’t being blinded by his affections for him. 

Ron swore and took the D.A galleon, and they waited, sick with anticipation, to see if anybody would hear the call and respond. In an under an hour, Neville, Ginny and Luna were stood beside them in their Hogwarts staff and student robes, and George, Dean and Seamus had appeared in their WWW uniforms. 

Feeling more reassured in the numbers, and yet more scared for his friends, Harry decided it was time to go. They’d decided that sneaking in wouldn’t work – the Death Eaters were likely to have traps and alarms around the property, which Hermione had discovered was a small cottage with a basement, where Malfoy was most likely being held.

“Right, everyone. Our primary objective is to capture or kill all the Death Eaters. Additionally, we have to bring Draco Malfoy back unharmed, as he is our only chance at understanding and stopping the spell.” 

“Harry’s right. The only Death Eater we would prefer captured than dead is Auror Graves – we will need his testimony and any information he can give us.” Hermione added. 

“And then the bastard can spend the rest of his nasty little life in Azkaban.” Ron snarled. There was a few seconds where everything was silent, and then Hopkins held out the Portkey she’d created to the cottage, and everybody reached out to touch it. 

***

They arrived with a bang, and a Caterwauling Charm screamed. The group flooded into the cottage and were greeted by eight cloaked Death Eaters standing behind a shimmering shield charm, wands outstretched. Hermione lifted her wand, but Harry stopped her. 

“Wait! What if one of them is Malfoy? He may not have a choice!” He cried, and she nodded. The two groups of wizards and witches faced each other silently, waiting for the other to make the first move, as Harry closed his eyes, which flared white under his eyelids.

Malfoy, where are you? 

I’m underground. He cursed my legs. I can’t move.

Move towards the walls. I’m coming down. 

Harry opened his eyes, which were still bright white, and grabbed Ginny and Luna’s hands. 

You two, with me. The rest of you – Hermione’s in charge. Please, be careful.

Aware that thirteen against eight seemed like an easy fight, he knew it wouldn’t be that easy – none of his friends would be willing to use the same awful Dark magic that the Death Eaters used without a thought. He turned away from Hermione and Ron unwillingly. 

Still holding Ginny and Luna’s hands in his left, he clutched his wand in his right and pointed it at the floor, sending them downwards through the splintering wood into the basement as, above them, Hermione and the rest launched their first spells at the Death Eater’s shield. Bracing themselves for a hard landing, they were surprised by the soft landing of a cushion charm. 

“Thank you, Draco.” Luna said airily, rearranging her robes as she glided towards Malfoy. Harry and Ginny followed her, all crouching down beside Malfoy, who was crumpled on the floor, legs bent at an unusual angle. He nodded at Luna, seeming surprised to see her.

“Harry, I could have fought!” Ginny hissed, angry that Harry had tried to keep her safe. 

“I need you to heal Malfoy. You and Luna are the best at healing spells.” 

Ginny looked surprised and pleased, and Luna beside her smiled pleasantly as she produced a pouch of herbs. 

“I thought I might need them.” She said in answer to Harry’s unasked question. He almost smiled, amazed. Luna always seemed to know what was going to happen before it did. 

Harry turned to return to the fight, which had started moments ago – a well-aimed jinx from George had broken the shield, and now there was actual fighting going on. Harry knew he was needed, even if he wanted to stay with Malfoy. He paused as he lifted his wand, and darted back towards Malfoy’s prone body on the stone floor. Malfoy’s wide grey eyes watched him as he approached. Harry knelt over Malfoy’s body and kissed him, so quickly no-one was quite sure it happened, and then vanished out the hole in the ceiling to return to the fight. 

The Death Eaters had been unmasked, and George’s triumphant smile suggested it had been an invention of his that was to blame. Hermione, Ron and Hopkins were fiercely fighting Lucius Malfoy, and beyond them the Carrow twins were taking on Neville, McKinnon, and Seamus. Two unrecognisable Death Eaters lay dead or unconscious on the floor. Valentina was cowering in the corner, defended by Graves, who was fighting a bitter Savage and a furious Dawlish. Beside them, George and Dean were fighting a nasty looking Death Eater who kept shouting out swear words in French.

Harry quickly analysed each situation, and watched as Savage bound and trapped Graves in a large, impenetrable silver bubble. Alecto Carrow quickly abandoned her fight and shot over to stand in front of Valentina Nott – Harry frowned, still unseen by anyone, and noticed with horror that Valentina seemed to be pregnant. He remembered Malfoy and Hermione’s conversation about creating magical life, and knew whatever was in her stomach should not have been. 

Harry ran over to join Ron and Hermione, shouting for Hopkins to join the fight against Alecto, who he knew to be particularly vicious. It was incredibly important that Valentina did not escape. 

Lucius’ face was a terrible thing to see – a disgusting mess of charred bone and burnt, drooping skin. But his cold, fish-like eyes had been untouched, and they glared out at Harry as the three teenagers fought him. The three threw curses and jinxes at a terrifying speed, barely thinking before they moved their wands, but it somehow wasn’t fast enough to land more than a few spells on his body at a time. 

Harry heard a shout behind them and knew that one of his own had been hurt. Feeling sick at bringing them here into danger, he prayed that Ginny and Luna would be done soon with Malfoy – he needed the extra fighters, and he needed to know Malfoy was OK. It seemed that only the Carrow twins and Lucius were fighting to kill – the others seemed more preoccupied with getting away.

It felt like an age later when he heard George’s shout that the French witch was out cold and, along with Valentina, was safely secured in one of Savage’s silver bubbles. Harry was about to let out a smile of relief when he heard the crack of Apparition, and another Death Eater appeared in the cottage’s only room. 

Harry glanced around frantically, trying to see if anyone was unneeded in their own fight and could be spared – but Lucius was a fiercely talented wizard, and Harry, Ron and Hermione were almost unmatched. Besides them, Savage, Dawlish and Hopkins were still fighting Alecto, and Amycus was being attacked by Dean, Seamus, and Neville. George was on the floor, frantically trying to heal a jinxed wound as the new Death Eater hit Dean with a nasty spell that knocked him out cold, landing him next to George in the corner. 

There was a loud shout and Ginny appeared in a flash, aiming a strong Bat-Bogey hex at the Death Eater who had wounded Dean. Luna materialised next to Ginny and started to shoot her own, strange, spells at the still masked Death Eater. One of Luna’s spells turned the mask to black water, and it dripped to the floor to reveal Proudfoot – face twisted into a snarl of anger. 

Distracted, Harry felt a burning ache in his stomach and realised Lucius had hit him with a curse. He shrieked and Hermione screamed in anger. She and Ron increased the speed of their jinxes and hexes, but it had little effect now Harry was out of the picture, now crouching on the floor screaming in pain. It wasn’t long before Ron and Hermione were too weak to throw strong enough spells – they must have been fighting for over an hour by now. Ron’s eyes and nose were streaming blood, and, as he spared a split second to wipe his face with a sleeve, Lucius hit Hermione with a spell that knocked her off her feet, whacking her head against the wall. She landed beside Harry who was coughing up blood and bile and something dark and viscous. 

And then, for a second time, Draco Malfoy appeared to defend Harry and take on his father. He was unsteady on his feet, but Harry was glad to see that whatever Luna and Ginny had done had been successful. Harry started to cry in equal amounts of relief and pain, looking up at Draco with his pale hair flying around his head like some strange halo. 

***

Draco felt as though he were at sea – his legs felt wobbly and his head ached, but nonetheless he pushed past Weasley to confront his father. He was vaguely aware that there were other fights going on around him, and he was painfully aware of Potter sobbing, crumpled on the floor to his left, but he didn’t take his eyes of his father’s mangled face. He wasn’t crying, as he had the last time they’d fought, and he wasn’t cowering either, as he had been this past week. He was angry, and he was determined. 

Draco barely thought about the spells he was sending towards his father – he was casting from his heart, from his hurt, rather than his mind. He knew it was more dangerous, but he felt alive with power, like he’d been struck by lightning. One of his curses struck his father’s right hand, his non-wand hand, and the bones splintered, crushing his hand to a pulp. At the same moment, his father’s silent curse hit his chest, cracking ribs. Something collapsed inside of him and Draco knew his lung had been punctured. He gasped in pain, falling to his knees, throwing up a hasty shield to distract his father; then he felt a strange warmth surrounding him, sliding under his skin. His muscles tensed, his heart beat faster. It was Potter, Draco realised – Potter was, while still vomiting blood and bile in the corner of Draco’s eye, somehow sharing his power, lending his strength. 

Draco clambered to his feet and summoned his fury, his pain, his resentment, and carefully twisted it, with Potter’s strength and heat, into a darkly shining blue ball of lightning in his hands. Draco could feel his eyes burning blue, and he saw Lucius’ smirk slide off his face, replaced by true fear for a single moment before Draco released the lightning. It engulfed his father, who screamed and wailed and fell to the floor, burnt to a crisp, finally dead. 

Around him, Draco felt, rather than saw, the Carrow twins collapse. He felt like fire, like a thunderstorm – Potter was all around him, in him, and Draco felt the tiniest amount of dread that Potter felt this way all the time – so alive, so fierce. Draco fell to his knees, exhausted, as Potter’s power receded, and he watched as Potter’s eyes flared white, his whole body shimmering with light. There was a dreadful pause as the whole world seemed to still, and then Potter released the burning brightness; it was a wave, washing over everything and everyone in sight. It was a piece of truly remarkable magic – it passed painlessly through Draco, through Granger and Weasley and their fellow soldiers, but it shot like a sword through each and every Death Eater, including the Auror named Proudfoot. Potter let out an almighty scream and collapsed. Draco, feeling weak and transparent, passed out.


	17. Our beginnings never know our ends

Harry had been unconscious for fourteen hours after his final spell. He woke to the news of a successful battle and seven dead Death Eaters, six by his own hand. 

“No-one knows what spell you cast, Harry.” Hermione spoke softly, perhaps afraid of upsetting him. Ron sat silently beside her, wedding ring glinting in the harsh hospital lights. Harry didn’t speak for a long time, contemplating his friends’ beloved, familiar faces. 

“I don’t think I did.” He said. “Cast a spell, I mean. I think it was just magic.” 

Even Ron looked concerned at that. It was almost unheard of for witches or wizards to use magic without a spell in mind, even if it was non-verbal and wandless magic, as Harry’s had been. 

“It was immensely powerful, Harry; it killed six Death Eaters in one go, even as it left us all unharmed. What were you thinking?” She didn’t say the last part like she was accusing him, more like she was curious, confused. Harry paused, thinking. 

“I wasn’t thinking. I was feeling.” He closed his eyes, remembering the surge of emotion that had consumed him as he lay bleeding on the floor – the pain and hurt, the love for his friends, the depth of emotion he felt when he thought about Draco Malfoy, and above that all, his desire for evil to finally be vanquished. 

“I loved you, and I hated them. That’s all there was.” He added, looking from Hermione’s serious and thoughtful face to Ron’s strangely grave one; he was so rarely quiet and serious. Hermione nodded, as though he’d confirmed a suspicion of hers, and then they stood, hands clasped together. 

“We’ll come back later, mate, and update you on everything else, but you’ve got a visitor waiting outside.” 

As they left Harry leaned back against his pillows and closed his eyes, head still groggy. 

His dreams were strange, but not fearful, permeated by soft, low singing that painted a lavender haze across his dreamscape. 

Blearily, he opened his eyes hours later to an almost dark room. Sat cross legged on the chair beside him was Draco Malfoy. His hair was feathered around his face, like it was freshly washed and dried but not styled, and his face was inscrutable in the moonlight streaming in through the window. 

“I didn’t want to wake you.” Malfoy said, voice quiet. Harry nodded. He wondered why Malfoy was there; he wondered what their relationship was now. It had been tumultuous from the start, and he didn’t know what to think. There was silence, and then Malfoy spoke. 

“You came for me.” 

“I did.” 

“Even though I hurt you.” 

“Yes.” Harry didn’t bother going into more detail – let Malfoy make of it what he will, he thought. 

More silence. 

“I felt you, as I fought him.” 

“You did?” Harry asked, surprised. 

“You lent me your power, I think.” His voice was still quiet. 

“I don’t remember.” It was true – Harry only remembered being filled with so much pain and fear and hope as he watched Malfoy, angel-like, battling with his monstrous father. 

“That magic you did, at the end of the battle…” Malfoy trailed off, seemingly unsure of what to say next. When he finally spoke again, Harry expected, and feared, the same concern Ron and Hermione had shown, or perhaps jealousy, or even fear. 

“It was incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it.” 

“I gather it isn’t something people do often.” Harry said dryly, and Malfoy snorted softly. 

“No. No, it isn’t.” 

This conversation was the strangest they’d ever had, filled with silences and soft voices. Harry didn’t know what to make of it. He was terrified that if he said the wrong thing he’d send Malfoy running. He could barely breathe he was so still, nerves tingling. 

“What next?” Malfoy asked, carefully, silvery eyes shining in the near-dark of the room. Harry shrugged. 

“I don’t know.” 

There was silence, filled with only breaths and heartbeats. 

“I do.” Malfoy whispered, voice hushed. Harry tensed as Malfoy started to move. In a single, smooth movement, Malfoy shifted out of his chair and leant across Harry’s prone body, one hand falling onto the bed. Cautiously, gently, Malfoy kissed Harry, cool lips pressed to Harry’s warm ones even as Malfoy’s hair fell around their faces. Harry relaxed, one hand reaching up to cup Malfoy’s angular cheek. Malfoy’s lips curved into a smile and he sank deeper into the kiss, heart bursting with emotion. Malfoy shifted, knelt on the thin hospital bed. Harry’s free hand reached for Malfoy’s thin one, and they clasped their hands together as they kissed. 

***

They attended the trials of Graves and Proudfoot hand in hand, proud and defiant in the face of the startled stares and few disapproving frowns. Harry was jubilant, ecstatic, felt as though he was walking on clouds as he smiled at Draco. Draco smiled back. 

He no longer slicked his hair back, instead choosing to leave it free around his face. His white-blond feathery hair softened the harsh angles of his face, leaving him resembling, in Harry’s opinion, an angel of sorts. The shadows under his eyes had faded as well, and his eyes peered brightly out of his pale face. He’d filled out a little, too, if only to please Mrs Weasley, who had taken him under her wing without complaint, and even with fondness, after seeing the way Harry looked at him.

Harry, too, had lost the darkness under his eyes – he no longer had nightmares, sleeping beside Draco as he now did. The tension in his muscles that had been there since he’d entered the forest so many months ago had drained away slowly, and he felt peaceful, finally. 

On Draco’s first visit to the Burrow, Ginny had taken him aside and warily explained to him what his father had done to her in her first year, and he had cried, begging her forgiveness. She had refused, softly saying it wasn’t his crime to feel such guilt over. He’d made the rounds of the whole Weasley family, apologising to each and every one in such a heartfelt manner that even George had been compelled to forgive him. He’d suffered enough, as they had, and the time for suffering was over. 

And so they stood hand in hand, beside Ron and Hermione, and they knew not what would come, only that it would be good.


	18. We loved with a love that was more than love

“Harry, you can’t see him! Go away!” Hermione cried, half-laughing at Harry’s pretend despairing face as she shooed him away. Ginny appeared beside him, clutching his arm, pulling him away. 

“You idiot, the ceremony’s about to start, get down there!” She hissed, shoving him down the aisle towards Ron, who was grinning widely. 

Harry gamely trotted down the aisle to Ron, who brushed off imaginary dust from Harry’s shoulders to disguise the tear-shine in his eyes. Harry turned to face his family and friends, seated in rows, ghost-like under the silver and white lights. Luna had decorated the tent with silver and gold streamers and balloons, delighting in the muggle decorations. There was a faint pop from the back of the tent, and gold stars burst into existence above them, giving the tent a golden glow as Draco began to walk the aisle, accompanied by Hermione and Narcissa. 

Draco and Harry had argued about who would walk the aisle, and had finally settled it in a game of rock-paper-scissors, which Draco had been delighted to win. “Drama queen!” Harry had called him, laughing as Draco peppered him with kisses.

Harry wasn’t ashamed of the tears that fell freely as he watched Draco walk towards him, even as he saw Ginny and Luna exchanging coins subtly and knew Ginny had won yet another bet. It had been three years since the final battle after the war, and Harry and Draco had worked hard to recover and forgive each other and themselves. 

And here they were, getting married, in front of their joint family and friends, excited for what every next day would bring. Harry couldn’t believe his luck, and from the look on Draco’s face, neither could he. Hermione’s face was bright with pride and joy, and Ron was grinning widely beside Harry. Life had not been easy in the past, but it was now. Things were good. They were happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're enjoying the story! Leave a comment letting me know what you like :) Also, please feel free to ask for one-shot ideas, I'd love to give them a go! Can be any pairing or idea in the Harry Potter universe


	19. EPILOGUE - Six years later

Harry Potter leaned his head against his husband’s shoulder and stretched his legs out into the sun. Draco Potter, once Malfoy, smiled down against Harry’s ever-ruffled hair. They both looked out into the park, watching their extended family play. Their wedding bands glinted on their entwined fingers.

Rose Granger-Weasley, only seven years old, was swinging her way across the monkey bars, watched by her eagle-eyed father, Ron, who was laughing as he imitated a monkey, making silly faces and sounds. By his side, his wife Hermione was knelt on the grass, smiling as she showed her five year old son Hugo how to dig in the sandpit for dinosaurs. 

Harry and Draco turned their gaze to their de facto son, Teddy, now nine years old, who was holding the hands of his little sister, Theodora Potter, as she tried to kick a football towards Ginny and Luna, who in turn were encouraging their three year old daughter Rosella to kick it back. Teddy’s hair was as green as the grass surrounding them.

Further afield in the playground Percy and his wife Audrey, whose hands were protectively placed across her pregnant belly, patiently watched as George Weasley and his six year old son Fred Junior showed off a new invention. Bill and Fleur watched as their twin daughters ran, screaming with laughter, from Charlie, who was merrily pretending to be a dragon. 

Molly and Arthur Weasley watched their children and grandchildren, bright beaming smiles on both faces, from two large deck chairs. This was the annual summer family meet up, enforced vigorously by Molly, and she was delighted everybody had been able to make it. 

“I think Fred Junior will turn out just like his uncle, don’t you?” Harry murmured into Draco’s shoulder, breath tickling his neck. 

“What does Weasley think he’s doing?” Draco, preoccupied, didn’t answer Harry’s question. Although that comment could have been about any one of the multiple Weasley men in the park, Harry knew he meant Ron. Draco’s comment was without vitriol, however – Draco got on well with Ron, and they often had playdates together with their children. 

Harry looked over at Ron, who was now crawling on the floor towards Hugo with Rose on his back. Ron was still making the monkey faces and noises, although Hugo and Hermione seemed totally unaware. Finally Hermione looked up, and gasped, rolling her eyes. 

“Ronald, have some decorum! We’re in public!” She cried, but she was smiling, and she leaned across to kiss her husband on the cheek. 

“Hi, darling! Teddy teaching you football?” Harry cooed as Theo ran up clutching a small handful of flowers. Teddy followed quickly behind and collapsed onto the floor, pulling Theo onto his lap. 

“She’ll be better than me in no time!” He laughed, and Draco tore his eyes away from Ron making a spectacle of himself to watch his husband talk to their children. 

“She’ll be a Chaser, I bet. Would you like that, Theo darling?” 

“Ridiculous, Harry. She’ll obviously be a Seeker. Like father, like daughter.” Draco replied, rolling his eyes at Teddy, who smirked. 

“You’re right, she’ll definitely be an excellent Seeker, like me.” Harry suddenly shied away from Draco’s playful jab to his stomach. They both dissolved into laughter as Harry responded, and Teddy watched with a large smile on his face, still holding Theo carefully to his chest as she pushed daisies behind his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify: This is six years after Harry and Draco's wedding, so it's roughly nine years after the end of the war. Rose G-W is 7, so she was 1 at the wedding. Theodora is adopted, as is Rosella.


End file.
